


What Dreams May Come

by Kyndred_Raven (Ravenna_Corvin)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Evolving Tags, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mentor/Protégé, Sexual Content, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-13 00:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4500825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenna_Corvin/pseuds/Kyndred_Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Part IV UP!][Solas/Lavellan NSFW] Time has a way of healing all wounds, but just as it can heal, it too can leave scars deep enough to reach across the ages. True love can never be forgotten, and even if lovers are torn apart in one world, they may yet find solace in the next. Souls that are connected will always recognize each other no matter the time, century, or how much the world has changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Before the story, I'd like to say a few things and apologize for a few. This story is written as a response to an anonymous prompt that I received via Tumblr. I wish that I could give credit to this person, but since they didn't give their name, I won't be able to. The prompt was this (copied and pasted):
> 
> "Please please please write a short piece involving an AU version of a teacher/student relationship that includes Solas and Lavellan! It doesn't matter how AU it is or where it takes place. I just want to see YOU write these two in this context in your style!"
> 
> Thank you for this prompt and for the compliments that came with it. I sincerely appreciate your kind words! I hope that you like what I've done here and that you enjoy reading as much as I am enjoying writing this. 
> 
> I am planning on this to be a 3 part short story, as is the usual norm for my shorts. The title is adopted from one of my favorite movies of all time. Though it's already been used in said movie, I found that the spirit and plot of this story fit very well with the meaning behind this title.
> 
> Though I am a huge fan of the Elven language in DA, I know that I may make mistakes when trying to construct original sentences. I apologize for this and hope it doesn't detract from the story itself.
> 
> Please stay tuned for part 2, coming very soon :) and if you have a moment, I'd love to hear what you guys think of this.
> 
> Thank you for your support!

* * *

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**What Dreams May Come**

**Part I**

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"I've never seen such a beautiful place," Elle marveled, trying to absorb the splendor of the scenery around her. The forest here was green, almost unbelievably so. Every color stood out like a brilliant gem, so vivid that each one overwhelmed her senses. Her mind tried to understand how it was possible that all of this seemed so real. The cool breeze made her shiver. The sun-kissed boulder beneath her dug into her palms and left red marks behind. When she inhaled, Elle breathed in air that was thick with the smell of wet earth, moist and soggy from fresh rain. The water  _pitter-pattered_  all around her, droplets diving between leaves to finally fall to meet the ground. Yet none of it touched her skin. She was dry as though she was immune to the effects of the weather.

That's how Elle knew that she was in a dream. None of this could possibly be real. Unless she had somehow walked straight into a Hollywood nature documentary. Everything, even the ground, had a blurred quality to it, almost as though the cameraman filming this dramatic scenery had forgotten to wipe down his lens. No. This couldn't be real. Life wasn't this…blissful and perfect. There was no forest that surrounded her university, and she could have sworn that she had just been working in her lab. She'd probably dozed off waiting for her colleagues to return with her data from the afternoon.

A noise caught her attention. Before her, just there, past a certain cluster of trees that seemed familiar, she saw a figure dressed in odd clothing. From the set of his broad shoulders and slender long-legged frame, Elle could see that it was a man. She stood up from her perch on the comfortably flat boulder and walked towards him. It wasn't until he turned around and caught her emerald gaze that she recognized who it was.

"Professor?" she called. "Is that  _you_?"

"Ellara," he answered, stepping towards her. Only the Professor ever used her full name. Everyone else, including her other teachers, always called her by her nickname. Strange, but she'd never minded. When  _he_ said it, it sounded beautiful, though she'd always thought it sounded too frivolous when others tried to do the same.

Her mentor wore a light colored tunic and dark green pants, clothes that reminded her of pictures of hermits that she'd seen in her studies of ancient cultures. The staff in his hand didn't help diffuse the image. She wondered if she'd conjured the style of his clothing from a catalog of random memories. She'd certainly looked at enough of such pictures over the years. Normally, though, hermits had grey hair and long beards, at least in illustrations.

The Professor had neither. In fact, she couldn't recall ever seeing even a stubble on his chin, and his head was always perfectly shaved. The material of his tunic was worn and somewhat ragged, but it suited him somehow. Truth be told, he looked rather handsome in this outfit. Something about it really fit him, a fact that irked her a little. Elle hated how dashing he looked no matter what he wore. If she dared to wear something like that, she'd probably be the subject of many a rude comment among her classmates.

"Where are we, Professor?" Her eyes fell to a bundle of plants in his arms - a cluster of what looked like wildflowers and herbs. She raised her brow at that.

"You tell  _me_ , Ellara," he replied, tilting his head and looking around as if he, too, was wondering the same thing. "This is  _your_  dream, after all." When he looked back at her, his light blue eyes snagged at her heart, forcing it to lose its pace for a moment. It wasn't just the scenery that was exquisite, she thought as he moved closer and offered the bundle of flowers to her. She took them, hardly daring to breathe.

Honestly, it wouldn't have mattered  _where_  they were. They could have been in some moldy cave or a filthy trench on a dig, and she  _still_  would have been happy. Just being beside her teacher and her mentor would have been enough. It wasn't just the fact that he was her official program advisor at the academy. It also wasn't the point that his letter of recommendation was responsible for her admittance to the university. No.

It was simpler - and maybe stupider - than that.

Elle was completely and impossibly in love with him, and it had all started from the moment that she attended his first lecture. He was very handsome, yes, but that wasn't what drew her to him like a moth to a flame.  _Everything_  about him fascinated her.

The way he moved, the way he walked, the way he spoke of history, and the way his nose wrinkled when he sipped on the tea she brought him every morning. He was a brilliant man, full of knowledge and wisdom - full of seemingly never-ending tales and stories that he'd picked up over years of study. He spoke of ancient ruins as though he'd visited them when they were still in their prime. He spoke of magic as though it was real and tangible. In short, he made the world seem much fuller and more interesting - much bigger and filled to the brim with wonder.

Three years, she'd been by his side as his one and only research student, spending anywhere between twelve and sixteen hours with him a day in the lab or doing field work. When they weren't engaged in research, he was helping her build her dissertation. They'd worked through more than a few nights straight and had seen the worst of each other in the mornings when their clothes were wrinkled and their eyes swollen from exhaustion. They'd attended formal gatherings together and had spent weeks in foreign countries digging through the dirt to find evidence of how the past took shape.

Three years of seeing his face every single day. Three years of admiration and respect. Three years of feeling her heart quicken when he smiled. Yet in all those months and days, this was the first time that he'd ever appeared in any of her dreams.

She'd never told him about her feelings, of course. Elle knew that what she felt for him was entirely one-sided. Not to mention, entirely forbidden. If anyone found out at the university, they would pull her from the project. Being younger, she wouldn't take the brunt of the blow. The blame would fall on the Professor; even if he didn't return her feelings or do anything to act on them, nobody would listen. She couldn't risk that. Much better to keep her love a secret than to watch the person she cared about be hurt.

So, she adored him from the shadows, worrying for him when he worked too hard and bringing him food when he was so caught up in his research that he forgot to eat. She brought him snacks and even visited his house to talk about work while he painted murals on the walls. The smell of linseed oil, fresh paint, and canvas lingered on his clothes at times, and she adored that, too. They talked for hours about the ancient past and spent more time together than a working adult couple ever could. For Elle, that would have to do. It had always been enough.

Up until this moment.

When he was so close - close enough that she could feel his body heat - she almost forgot all about her promise to not tell him anything. But wait. This was a dream, wasn't it? What harm could come from being honest with herself somewhere where nobody could see or hear her? That, and this all seemed like scene out of one of the Professor's stories. He often spoke of a wilderness untouched by man - of forests that stretched into the horizon and were filled with creatures too magnificent to describe in words. Would she ever have another chance like this? To tell him how she felt in a scene that was more beautiful and romantic than anything she could experience in the real world?

"Professor," she began, wavering between her desires and her fear.

"Hmm?" he stepped even closer, reaching up and pulling a leaf from her hair. How had that gotten there? No doubt it was yet another fantasy of hers. He  _never_  got this close; never touched her or looked at her longer than necessary. Even when they spent time together, he made sure to maintain a proper distance, making Elle wonder if he just wanted to avoid misunderstanding or if he truly didn't want to be close to her. He  _was_  much older. Maybe he saw her as a child and would never think of her as more than that.

Is that why he was getting so close now? Because he never would in actuality? Because she  _wanted_ him to? How pathetic - she thought - to be so desperate that she imagined something like this.

"I…that is…" she stumbled.

"What is it?" he asked, the blue in his eyes melting to a bright azure. How she wished that he would look at her like this. How she  _yearned_  for it. With that, she felt her doubts falling away. This was a dream, and no harm had ever come from doing as she liked in dreams.

"I love you, Professor." The words finally broke though the stopper of self-control that she'd clung to for years. "I really love you," she repeated, feeling her skin tingling as excitement and terror of rejection coated it. "I always have, and I always will. I loved you from the first moment that I saw you." Suddenly, that soft look disappeared from his eyes. His delicate brow furrowed.

"Ellara…"

"I know it's wrong," she rushed to say. "I know, but I…"

 _Please, don_ _'t reject me_  - a part of her begged.

"You don't have to answer me, Professor. I just…at least here, I wanted to tell you." Something pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she realized with horror that she was about to cry. What the hell? She hadn't cried since gradeschool - not since she'd broken the nose of a local bully and had to go to the hospital to treat her broken hand. She was a strong adult woman now, and she wouldn't give into something so childish. Upset with her own weakness, Elle turned her back to him, afraid that he would notice. But before she could walk away, warm hands settled on her shoulders.

"It's alright," he said.

"Don't be angry," she pleaded.

"I'm not angry, Ellara." He tugged on her shoulder and she gave in to his momentum, allowing him to turn her back around. The worry had faded from his face.

"Then…Professor...how do you feel about  _me?"_  Damn it. Hadn't she just told herself that she would be fine if he didn't answer her?

"That is the question, isn't it?" he replied. An awkward silence hung between them before he sighed and smoothed his hand against her own. Her chest constricted when their fingers entwined. "Come. Let us find a place to talk."

He led her from the forest down a worn path through a field of grass. Elle once again marveled at the beauty of this dream. Above them, the sky was clear and cloudless. An eagle cried out as he flew through the air, a shrill cry of bliss and freedom. Not far from where they'd left, a herd of what looked like white deer with curled long antlers grazed serenely. She and the Professor walked until they reached a cluster of ruins, sprawled out and hidden in overgrown vines and gnarled trees. The only part of them still whole was an enormous statue of a wolf, a figure that seemed to be guarding the dead stone and age-old courtyard.

"What an interesting statue," she said. "Almost like an angry sentinel."

"He is harmless," the Professor told her.

"It reminds me of the statues of Anubis that we surveyed in Egypt. What is this wolf guarding, I wonder?"

"Nothing," the Professor said. "Not anymore."

"He must be tired," Elle reasoned. "Or sad."

"Perhaps both," her teacher offered cryptically. "Perhaps he has no burdens, and thus no purpose."

Though Elle prided herself on her knowledge of archaeology and identifying areas all over the world just from photographs, she had no idea where she was. The ruins around her gave no clues and were so mysterious that she almost believed that she'd conjured them from pure obscurity. The Professor said nothing more, though he shifted his weight between his feet restlessly. The ground was covered nettles and loose stones, but his boots provided no protection from them. His toes and heels peeked out from the worn leather, yet he gave no sign of discomfort. In fact, he curled them a bit as though enjoying the feel of the earth against his bare skin.

"Professor," she ventured. "Where are we?" No harm in asking, right? This was a dream anyhow, and Elle wanted to know how he would explain this baffling area she'd never seen before.

"You wouldn't remember it,  _da_ _'len_ ," he said with a small smile. "Indeed, no one would. It is a place lost to time and memory."

" _Da_ _'len?_ " she echoed, tasting the unfamiliar word. "What does that mean?" He didn't answer her for a long while. Together, they climbed a set of steps that led to a large building whose roof looked like it had collapsed from an explosion. Odd symbols decorated what was left of beautiful stained glass. "It looks like a center of worship," Elle reasoned. "By the architecture, I would guess that it used to be a temple. But, I don't recognize the civilization." She stepped towards the building and placed her hand upon the stones. The Professor stayed behind, leaning on his staff and watching her with a sharp gaze. "These ruins feel…old. Older than anything I've seen before…"

"That is because they are older than anything else that now exists in this world," her teacher replied.

"It might help if I knew where we were geographically," she pouted.

"Perhaps," he agreed. Elle gasped. His voice was right beside her ear, and she jumped a little when she felt his breath displace a whorl of hair resting on her cheek. She turned and found him standing beside her, his pale eyes unusually warm. How had he gotten so close without her noticing? She tried to keep her mind on the task at hand.

"There don't seem to be any markings that I recognize..."

"You don't remember, then..." he sighed.

"Remember what?" she asked, swallowing back a lump in her throat. Having him this close wasn't a good idea, especially since she couldn't seem to take her eyes off his lips when he talked. Good lord. What had gotten into her all of a sudden? She was acting like a silly girl with a crush. Then again, she  _was_ a silly girl with a crush, so maybe that let her off the hook.

"None of this is familiar to you?" the Professor gestured to the ruins.

Elle frowned and shook her head. "Is this something I should know? Is this material that we've reviewed before?" He was  _always_ testing her, always keeping her on her toes. Even in her dreams, apparently. She knew that look he was giving her and felt her heart sink in disappointment. The last thing she wanted was to look like a fool right now. "I'm sorry, Professor. I'll look at my notes again after…"

"No," he cut in with a shake of his head. "It's alright. It matters not if you recall it."

"Professor," Elle began, "are you teasing me?" She folded her arms across her chest, feeling her breath catch when the corner of his mouth turned up into a mischievous smile. She'd never seen  _that_  expression on his face before. How could it be that he was so changed here, almost like a different person? Was this the Professor of her fantasies? If so, then her mind really knew what it was doing.

"Teasing?" he repeated.

"Yes. You like to do that sometimes. I think you enjoy seeing me wriggle and feel like a moron. But you don't smile. Not much, anyway, and not like this. I guess I really  _am_  dreaming." He laughed this time, and Elle felt heat creeping into her cheeks. That sound was rare, and she was ever so proud when he laughed because of something that she said.

"I would never tease you,  _da_ _'len_."

This time, it was her turn to frown. "What does that word mean?"

The smile lingered on his face - a crooked, one sided twist that accented the fullness of his lips. He reached up and tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear. "An endearment, of sorts," he answered. Elle's breath caught in her throat. If those blue eyes were a lake, she might have drowned in it. Gladly, though. So very very gladly.

"What language is it?" she asked a little breathlessly. "I don't recognize it." Unusual, for one of the focuses of her PhD was linguistics. That  _included_  dead languages.

"It, too, is regrettably lost to memory,  _ma sa_ _'lath_." Elle's breath quickened. The corner of his mouth fluttered, widening his unfamiliar smile. "Do you not like it?"

"I…it's beautiful. I just wish I knew what it meant. Can you…say something else?"

" _Sahlin, ma emma vhenan_ _'ara,"_ he obliged. More heat suffused her face until she thought that her cheeks might explode. The way he spoke those words. She might not know their meaning, but she could sense that they were words of love. Or was she just deluding herself? Was she  _that_ despondent?

"You wanted an answer,  _da_ _'len_. There you have it."

"An answer to what?"

"Your earlier confession." His eyes twinkled. "Or has the beauty of this place already made you forget it?"

"Of course not! But, I don't know what you said…"

"Do you not?" He closed the distance between them. Or tried to. Surprised by his actions and the way his voice dipped lower until it was a husky purr, Elle stepped back. And back. Farther and farther. He was never far behind, chasing her in a slow and almost predatory pace until her back was pressed against a stone column. When she would have twisted to escape him, he set his hands upon her hips and held her still.

"Your mind may not remember the words, but your heart must." Something about the way he said that sounded uncertain - even a little hopeful. "It  _must_ …" One of his hands slid up her side, brushing over her breast to settle on the nape of her neck.

"Professor, what are you…" she breathed, gasping when he pressed a finger against her lips.

"Hush," he whispered, wrapping his other arm around her back and pulling her against him. Standing this way, with the cradle of her hip enveloping his thigh and her chest crushed against his surprisingly muscular torso, Elle thought she might faint from sensation. Using his other hand, he tilted up her chin until she could feel the heat of his breath fanning against her cheeks. Oh God. This was  _not_  good.

"Professor," she tried again, her voice weaker than before. "I didn't know that you…that is…we shouldn't…"

"Don't," he stopped her. "If you ponder on it, you will wake," was his warning. No more softness - not in his voice or on his face. Something feral lingered on his features now - a hunger that haunted the depths of his eyes. "Is that what you desire,  _ma sal_ _'ath_? To wake?"

"No, but I…" He shook his head to interrupt her.

"Then stay here. With me. In this moment, there are no words. No thoughts. No memories. Just us,  _da_ _'len_. Just this…" Before she could say - or mumble - anything else, his lips folded against hers, pliant yet firm skin melting against her own. Time stopped. A thousand different stars exploded in her vision. She was frozen at first, too shocked to move, but soon his lips coaxed the warmth and life back into her body. His mouth was warm, his hands fiery hot against her back. Those same hands ghosted upwards, one palm stopping against her chest and trailing a thumb against her - oh lord...

She was still clothed. Or was she? Elle couldn't remember anymore. It didn't really matter, did it? Her world narrowed to the feel of his demanding kiss and the friction of his thumb against the quickly hardening peak of her left breast. She mewled when his tongue slipped against her lower lip, grinding against the flesh there before moving past it to explore the cavern of her mouth. Her thoughts splintered. Decorum be damned. Propriety could rot in hell - she thought. Suddenly, she  _ **ached**_ for him in unimaginable ways, and that was all that mattered anymore.

"The taste of you _,_ _"_ he murmured against her lips. "How I've missed it. How I've missed  _you_."

"Wait a second," she breathed as he assailed her with kisses, slipping from her mouth to her jaw, then tracing the curve of her neck. And then her ear - breathing against it, licking at her earlobe. Such strained, hot breaths. As though he, too, was losing all of his sense as she was.

" _Na ir nuvenin, ma sal_ _'ath,"_ he signed. Elle groaned when the entire left side of her body caught fire, goosebumps marring her skin from her neck to her toes. "I  _need_  you."

"Wait, Professor, this is…" Something, something, something, 'no we shouldn't…'. But her arms were already wrapping around his shoulders, her muscles angling her body to press tighter against him despite her confusion. She felt his erection press against her pelvis, bit her lip hard enough to draw blood when he violently squished her against the cold stone of the column. Then he was back at her mouth, stealing her breath, devouring her needy moans with ravenous enthusiasm.

This was…strange. This was…amazing. No one had ever kissed her like this. Nothing this slow and almost wild. Nothing this erotic. Nothing that could make her climax just from - Oh. Sliding back, he suckled on her bottom lip, drawing its softness into his mouth and letting out a low amused chuckle when she whimpered in response. That sound traveled straight through her, pooling as sticky raw desire right at the apex of her thighs. She gulped in a ragged breath when her knees went weak, her whole body going blissfully numb when both of his hands cupped the underside of her breasts. She made a sound of protest when he pulled away, needing him more than she'd needed anything in her life.

Like.  _Ever_.

"Professor," Elle groaned. "What…are you doing to me? What is this?"

"Just a dream,  _da_ _'len,"_  he replied, bending down until his nose was buried between her breasts. "You will forget it when you wake."

"Forget?" she worried. "How could I ever...?"

"Hush now. Entrust yourself to me." She couldn't argue with that, not when her entire body throbbed for his touch. He tore at the buttons of her shirt with his teeth, and because this was a dream, they gave and disappeared without a trace. Then, there was no barrier - nothing between his molten tongue and her swelling nipples. A hoarse cry ripped itself from her when he drew her into his mouth - suckling, biting, laving, and circling…ever slowly, with a pace that was torturous and agonizing. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, into the woolen material of his tunic. Strange how she could feel that so vividly. The stone, too. So cold against her back.

"Solas," she said suddenly and felt him freeze. Elle had no idea why she called him by his first name. He had always been her Professor. She'd never thought about his name or about calling him by anything else other than that title. Yet there it was, on the tip of her tongue, as familiar and dear to her as a lover's might be. "Solas," she murmured again. Elle couldn't be sure if she'd offended him or not. Could her fantasy Professor even  _be_ offended in a dream like this? "I'm sorry," she apologized when he moved back from her and captured her gaze.

"Do you remember?" he asked, hope vivid and bright in his eyes. " _Ma vhenan_ , you must tell me. Do you remember?"

"Remember?" she whispered in a daze.

"No," he bit out sternly. "It matters not." But it  _did_  matter. Something was eating at him, gnawing at him as surely as her unrequited need for him devoured a part of her each and every day. She wanted to ask him what it was, but then he pressed himself against her and she forgot what it was she wanted. That is, everything but him. His expression unreadable, he wrapped his hands under her buttocks and lifted her up until her legs were twisted around his hips. The new angle let her feel him at her core, a sensation that wrested another mewl of desire from her lips.

"Ah…Professor," she gasped.

"Solas," he growled into her ear.

"Solas," she repeated. Then again and again as he ground his hips against her.

"That's my girl," he chuckled in that dangerously sexy tone. "Shall I take you here? In this sacred place?" he asked. "Or would you prefer a bed of feathers? Shall I take you among pillows made of the finest silks, over and over until your voice has gone? Or perhaps among the very clouds, at the gates of the heavens themselves, where the birds and the winds will hear you cry my name in rapture..." She wanted to say that it didn't matter, but her desire was unbearable. She could hardly understand what he said, shifting in and out of that strange yet beautiful language. No words came to her save for:

"Please, Solas...don't stop, I beg you..."

"I will not give you what you ask until you answer me," he commanded. "Answer me, my heart. Tell me everything that you desire."

"You," she choked out. "All I want is  _you_." The cold stone softened behind her back. The ruins vanished. In the blink of an eye, the scenery changed, transforming in a dizzying swirl of colors and stars until she felt soft wet grass caress her skin. The whirlwind of images was so intense that she squeezed her eyelids shut and hid her face against the Professor's shoulder.

"No. Open your eyes,  _da_ _'len,"_ he said. "See what I would show you." She obeyed and gasped when she saw that they were now lying a field of sunflowers. Radiant thick green stems stretched upwards, capped by brilliant golden flowers bigger that both of her palms put together. They were so tall that they seemed to reach the sky. Her heart swelled, mind churning with remembrance.

"This place is…"

"When I look at you, this is what I see," he told her. "Do you recall it?" Of course she did. How could she ever forget? This was a place they'd gone to once for field work. Seeing him sitting among these beautiful flowers, Elle had fallen even more in love with him. He'd looked magical, then, as if he belonged in a time that was distant and unreachable. She'd thought back then that this place would forever be special only to her. At the memory, tears stung her eyes once more. Of course in this dream, he would think it was special too.

"You are my sun," he said, and when she looked upon him again, they were both naked. Elle thought that she might feel embarrassed, but there seemed to be no room for such things now. Sunlight bore down upon his skin, illuminating a gentle constellation of freckles on his shoulders. He cupped her face in both of his hands, leaning down on his elbows. "Take me into you. Share your warmth with me, for I am dying,  _ma vhenan._ Without your love, I am as barren as a field of ashes."

All sadness, all doubt, all lamentation that she might have felt shattered as he entered her, his length sliding into her core with a painful fullness. So ethereal. So blurry. Yet the pleasure wasn't dulled by it. Each sensation was as real as it might have been in the waking world. After a moment, he took up a steady rhythm, slipping in and out of her until each snap of his hips wrested a sound of ecstasy from her. He nipped her chin when she tilted back her her head, lost in throes of pleasure.

"For eternity," he groaned when her nails raked chaotic patterns up his forearms. "No matter what form you take. No matter how long I must wait to see you once again. I will  _always_  find you and I will always be with you, even if only like this..."

"Solas," she moaned. "You feel…amazing…if only this wasn't just a fantasy…"

"No," he said, his voice hardening. "Do not think it. If you do…"

"But it  _is_ ," she cried even as he angled her hips and pressed into her until she felt like she might break. "It's…it's…"

"Do not say it," he begged, falling upon her and cradling her head in his palms. Then his arms wrapped around her in a crushing embrace. "Do not," he begged again. And it was strange and horrifying, to see his desperation so plainly written on his face, to feel him tremble with a mix of pleasure and fear.

"It's just a dream," she whispered.

And in that moment, all went dark.

* * *

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.

.

Elle snapped up in her bed, gasping and panting. Sweat drenched her from head to toe, hands shaking and heart racing so quickly that she thought it might rip from her chest. Tears poured down her face in salty rivulets, yet she could not remember why it was that she felt like her soul was shattered. Her Professor's face floated in her memory, debris surfacing from a violent wreckage in a storm. She felt like that ship now - bruised and broken, left to sink to the very bottom of the cold dark ocean.

"Solas," she whispered to the lonely darkness, and wrapped her arms around herself. For who else was there to do it? Who else was there to chase away the raw emotions that raged through her at the memory of the dream he'd sworn that she'd forget? And she never would. Not even to save herself from the pain of understanding that she could  _never_ be with him as she truly wanted.

 _Ma_ _sal'ath_  - he'd called her, and now she knew what it meant.  _My one and only love._

For the first time since she was a young girl, Elle collapsed into her pillow and cried in sorrow.


	2. Part II

If there was such a thing called purgatory, then Elle was in it.

Every hour. Every day. Every waking moment - she was burning. Or drowning, perhaps. The night of the dream, the flood gates to a tsunami had been opened. All of her emotions, previously concealed behind a careful mask, were now vulnerable and open. Like a raw festering wound, they bled at the slightest touch; they stung and throbbed at the tiniest of provocations. The smallest things irritated her. Stress that had always been a part of her daily life as a graduate student was beginning to wear on her in new and strange ways. She was moody, she snapped at people; God forbid something went wrong in the lab. She threw herself into her work, but the more she did so, the worse things got. And those were problems  _unrelated_  to her Professor. When it came to _him_ , there was a whole new realm of suffering involved.

For her, just being near her Professor was no longer enough. Every time she looked at his serious expression, she imagined what it would look like softened with a smile. Every time he spoke to her in an even monotone, she remembered how he'd whispered words of love into her ears. And every time the sun kissed his face, she remembered how he'd looked bathed in it. In her daydreams, his blue eyes were soft and filled with warmth - the sort of affection that he would never show in reality. Every day, her mind took her back to that vast open sky - to the meadow filled with sunflowers; the place where he begged her to let him into her body and into her heart. With those memories came the agony, piling layer after layer onto her shoulders until they visibly sagged with weariness.

Elle wasn't sure what she hoping or waiting for. Reason told her time and again that she had no chance of getting what she wanted. What she was doing was masochistic at best and demented at worst. Pining for a man she could never have. Dreaming of him. Staying with him despite the fact that doing so was slowly driving her insane. The cost wasn't just to her emotions, either. She was making mistakes at work. Even now, she ran across campus to her laboratory, so exhausted from countless sleepless nights that she was running late to class. She clutched her notebooks to her chest, trying to protect them from the freezing rain around her, but she knew they would be soggy when she reached her destination. She'd been so lost in thought that she'd burned breakfast, put on mismatching shoes, and had forgotten an umbrella despite the obvious storm outside.

Careless. Reckless. Thoughtless. What would her Professor say if he saw her in this state? He would be annoyed at her tardiness for sure. Or would he? Honestly, Elle couldn't have known. As she imagined seeing the apathy on his face again, her feet slowed. She stopped, raising her head to look at the blurry silhouette of the distant science building.  _So what if he gets mad?_  - a selfish part of her asked.  _Who gives a damn?_   Would he even notice that she wasn't in lecture? Would he even _care?_  

Teeth grinding together, she forced herself to walk as slowly as possible, feeling a sort of comfort in the way her clothes shrank as they sponged up the frigid waters of the rain. By the time she made it to the science building, she was soaked down to her underwear. Yet she didn't go inside. Over and over again, her mind replayed the Professor's emotionless face, and over and over again, she thought she might throw up just thinking about it. With chattering teeth and shaking hands, she reached into her notebook and pulled out a piece of paper. Once, it had been in pristine condition, but over the course of time and mistreatment, it had become a tattered length of crumpled trash.

 _Ms. Lavellan_  - she read for what seemed like the thousandth time.

 _We are pleased to send you this letter as an invitation to our program. As you know, this is a competitive position with hundreds of annual applicants from all around the world_ _…_

Several weeks after she'd awakened from her dream in a state of disarray and despair, this letter arrived with an offer for a chance to spend some time researching evidence of ancient civilizations in Alaska. The offer was very tempting. Fascinating work. Good pay. An opportunity to plaster something attractive to her resume. Not only that, but she'd been applying for this program for three years in a row. To be accepted at last should have made her delirious with joy. This sort of opportunity wasn't something every graduate student could boast about receiving. She'd worked hard for this. Surely it was time to reap the fruits of her labor. And Elle  _was_  thrilled. At first. Until she realized what accepting this would mean. The offer was for her.  _Just_  her. The letter stated that the project could take up to a year to complete but that, with delays due to unpredictable and sometimes dangerous weather conditions, it could extend much longer.

A year. Most likely two. Three at most.

What would that mean for her? What would that mean for the Professor?

She'd spent countless hours mulling over the situation but had yet to come up with an answer. Naturally, the Professor's behavior hadn't changed at all since the night of her dream. He acted like he always did: grateful for her assistance; polite; reserved. His eyes didn't linger on her face. His hands didn't reach for her. His voice was stern most days and soft only when he thanked her for a job well done. He still told her stories that fascinated and enthralled her, but he spoke with her as he did with all his other students. All in all, he was the same man that she adored, but  _she_  was different now. She didn't love him less. If anything, she yearned for him more than she'd ever imagined could be possible.

Over several more weeks, Elle realized how precious their time together was. He only acknowledged her existence as much as was proper and necessary, but the thought of being away from him - the thought of not seeing him at all for years - terrified her more than the thought of him never knowing how she felt. It hurt her, his indifference. Every gesture; every missed look; every silence; every sign of apathy. But she still stayed. She put off replying to the letter, trembling at the prospect that she might come back and see that he had changed, had grown even farther from her than he was now.

Perhaps he would find someone to love while she was gone. Someone his age. Someone he would see as an equal. Someone among the faculty. What if she returned and saw them basking in their quiet bliss? How would it feel? Or worse yet - what if he forgot about her entirely? That was in the realm of possibility. The Professor was a man who dedicated his entire life to research. If she couldn't bring him tea or speak to him every day, would she fade from his memory like a passing cloud of rain?

No.

No. No.

That absolutely couldn't happen. If it did… _oh, God._

When thoughts like that circled in her mind, Elle had to sit down and clutch at her chest. In moments like that, she felt that she might suffocate, like her ribs were crushing the air out of her lungs. Now, it was happening again. With just a single thought, Elle believed that she might fall to her knees and scream. Everyone was inside now. Nobody would see or hear her. Crumpling the letter in her hand, Elle glared at a nearby trashcan with purpose. But, no. She was a scientist, damn it! She was rational. Logical. She _had_ to stay composed. Nobody knew about the letter of acceptance. Nobody would  _ever_  know. At least, not now. That was it. She just needed more time to think. She needed more time to decide if this was what she really wanted. Maybe if she just saw the Professor again, she would know what to do.

Cold, wet, and shivering, Elle entered the science building and took the stairs to the fifth floor, swerving away from the hallway that led to the auditorium. No lecture today. She couldn't handle it, and she didn't want anyone laughing at her ruined clothes and asking her why she was a sopping mess. Setting her notebooks at her workstation, she fell into her chair and wrapped her arms around herself for warmth.  _Maybe I should just go home_  - she thought.  _What can I possibly get done in this state?_ But that was the problem. Every day lately seemed to be like this, and despite her inner protests, she knew that it couldn't continue. If she wanted to finish her degree, if she wanted any kind of future, then she needed a solution to this  _now_.

"Achoo!" Elle sniffled and reached for a tissue to blow her nose right as the door to the lab squeaked open. A tall man in a lab coat shuffled into the room. He examined the area for a moment then spotted her sitting at her desk. He adjusted the glasses on his face, his light gray eyes disapproving. Shoulder-length brown hair was clumsily tied back with a rubber band.

"Sounds like you're getting sick," he said with pursed lips. Elle gasped when something wet and fluffy hit her in the face. She peeled back a small white towel from her head and glanced at the man.

"Seth…"

"I saw you standing out there," he shrugged. "Figured you'd be cold. Got that from the clinic downstairs. By the way, what were you thinking? If you come down with the plague, I'm not nursing you back to health." His sour expression made laughter bubble up in Elle's chest. How was it that her friend always managed to brighten her day?

"I'd rather you not," she giggled. "Last time you made me porridge was in high school and I had food poisoning for a week."

"I already told you that wasn't my fault," he grimaced. Elle smiled as she toweled her hair.

"Do you have a brush?"

"No."

"Not surprising." She sighed and combed her fingers through her hair, wincing when they snagged a tangle here and there.

"So why were you out there?" Seth asked.

"I was coming to class."

"The class you're skipping now?"

"Yeah," Elle replied with a little ire. "What's it to you?"

"Come on. You haven't skipped a class since freshman year of college. What's up? Did you forget to do an assignment?"

"No." That was all she wanted to say, but apparently that wasn't enough for Seth. With a long deep breath, he moved to stand in front of her and glowered down at her with his arms crossed against his chest. She looked away, feeling uncomfortable being the recipient of his penetrating stare. "What do you want?" she mumbled.

"Alright, that's it," he said. She noticed one of his hands clenching in and out of a fist. His frown deepened. "I've had enough. Will you  _please_  tell me what is happening to you?"

"What are you talking about?" Elle blinked, turning her chair away from him.

"You," he glared and swiveled her back around. "It's been over a month since you walked in here with your face all swollen looking like your favorite cat just got run over by a car."

"Wow, Seth. Your descriptions haven't improved at all since we met…"

"You've been… _moping_." Elle flinched at the accusatory note of his voice. She did her best to school her expression into a firm guise of feigned innocence.

"What? Moping?" She shook her head. "What would I be moping about, and do you seriously think I have time for that?"

"Apparently you do," he frowned, leaning back against a wall and crossing one leg over the other. "Don't treat me like an idiot, Elle. As your best friend, I can take some abuse, but being treated like a moron doesn't fall into my list of responsibilities as your wingman."

"You're imagining things," she pretended to roll her eyes and waved her hand in the air. "Yeah, so I had a rough few hours one night, OK? Am I not allowed a breakdown every once in a while? They work us like slaves here, remember? Anyways, that was ages ago. Why bring it up now?"

"Because of  _this_." He turned to her pile of notebooks and withdrew a soggy piece of paper from within. Elle stared at it for a moment before realizing what it was. Her blood froze.

"Seth…"

"I know about it, Elle." A beat. "I know about Alaska." She lunged at him, knocking over her chair, desperate to tear the paper out of his hands.

"Give it back!"

"Not until you explain what the hell is going on," he growled, using his superior height to keep the letter out of her reach.

"Give it back!"

"No." How in God's name had he found out? She hadn't told anyone about the news - not her friends and especially not the Professor. Realizing that she looked desperate and scared (practically confirming that something was indeed wrong), Elle backed away, bottling up her panic. One by one, she forced her fears to recede deep inside her, _willing_ herself to stay calm.

"Fine," she bit out. "But that letter is none of your business."

"None of my…" He seemed hurt at that suggestion. Taking a step back, he flattened his palm against his mouth then slid it upwards to brush dark bangs out of his eyes. "Are you serious? What the  _fuck_ , Elle? How long have we talked about this? How long have you rattled on and on about doing research outside the country in an advanced lab? You've been waiting almost four years for a chance like this, and now that it comes knocking you're ignoring it?"

"How do you know what I want?" she snapped with a hiss, staring down at the floor. "You don't know anything about me, Seth."

"Say that to my face," he challenged. She hesitated. "You can't, can you? You know why? Because it's bullshit."

"Everything is bullshit to you…that doesn't mean you know anything about the way I live my life." That was a lie and she knew it. Of course Seth would have noticed that something was off. How she'd managed to keep it from him for this long was a mystery.

"I know  _enough_ ," he ground out and threw the letter on the table in front of her. "I have eyes and ears. Maybe better than yours. At least I can see what's going on around me."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" His jaw clenched tight. In a swift motion, he reached up into a cabinet and pulled out a thick tome labeled: ' _The Foundations of Tomorrow_ _'_. Flipping to the back jacket cover, he pointed to a black and white picture of her Professor.

"It means that I've known you long enough to be able to tell when you're in love with someone. _And_ when that love is completely and disgustingly stupid." Those words hung in the air between them - heavy, awkward, and damning. Elle was too shocked to say anything. She knew that she should be denying his claims, but she couldn't move. Her jaw was frozen. Any lies that she might have come up with were locked behind a gate of fear and pain. He was right, of course. Seth was more perceptive than most people she knew. But if she admitted that, where would that leave her?

"Don't deny it," he warned. "I've seen the way you look at him. You follow him around like a lost kitten, hanging on his every word. I swear that if he told you that Neanderthals had wings, you'd believe him."

"That's not true…I'm just a student…"

"Students listen to a teacher's bullshit, pass the class, and forget it. You, on the hand, are perfectly content to swallow it and beg for more."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that it's obvious, Elle. Shit, I'm surprised nobody else sees how you worship the ground he walks on."

"S-Seth," she stuttered. "You…it's not what you think…I just admire him…"

"I said don't deny it!" Seth suddenly slammed his fist on the table, his face flushing a dark red. The sound echoed in the room like thunder, frightening any excuses Elle might have given back into the dark corners of her mind. Still, she opened her mouth to say something -  _anything_  at all - but he cut her off. "Stop it. Just…stop. If you don't want to admit it to  _me_  then at least admit it to  _yourself_."

He'd never spoken to her like this. They'd been best friends since middle school, had gone through the worst of emo teenagedom together, had scraped through college working the same jobs, and had even made it to the same grad school. Up until today, she hadn't believed that he could ever get this angry, but the fury that marred his face now was undeniable. He had always been a gentle man - too kind to even step on a spider that crept into his room. This wasn't like him.

"Look…Seth…" There was no denying it, though. No matter what she said, she knew that her ruse was up. Instead, she gripped the pages of her notebook so tightly that she heard the paper tear and crinkle. "It's my problem," she choked out. "Not yours. I don't want anyone to know."

He shook his head and lowered his voice: "That's what's  _sick_  about it. It's not that he's basically twenty years older or that he's your teacher. What's sick is that he  _does_  know. A guy like him? There's no way in hell he hasn't noticed it, which means that he's comfortable with you tending to his every need at the expense of your sanity." Something about this foreign side of him - something about that look of pain in his eyes that mirrored her own - broke through the dam she'd erected over the past weeks.

"Don't talk about him like that..."

"Wake up, Elle. Don't you see? He's  _using_  you!" Panic flushed her veins. Cold sweat broke out all over her body. Elle struggled to find the words to explain her and the Professor's strange situation, but couldn't. That inability made her feel vulnerable and hurt, especially when Seth was badmouthing the man she loved. Each time he implied that the Professor was at fault, she suppressed the urge to slap him.

"You're wrong…He hasn't…we haven't…"

"You don't have to sleep with someone to screw them," he snarled.

"Shut up!" The words ripped from her before she could stop them, anger thick in every syllable. "Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about. This isn't your problem!" Elle shoved him back and away from her, picking up the book he'd shown her and throwing it in his direction.

"Can't you see how wrong this is?" he insisted, stepping aside to avoid the projectile. "There's a reason that there's rules against this, Elle!"

"I'm not breaking them! And neither is he!" She found more things to throw at him. Her notebooks - one by one - then an empty beaker that flew straight into a shelf and shattered. What was wrong with her? She was acting like a lunatic. Fortunately, Seth didn't miss a beat. While she was searching for something else to hurl at him, he slid forward and trapped her in his arms.

"Calm down," he murmured. "Just…I'm sorry…I'm sorry, Elle…" He placed a hand on the back of her neck and stroked her hair. "I shouldn't have said anything…but I can't keep watching you act like this…it's not healthy - not for you or anyone." In response to his sincerity, she shivered against him, feeling the  _pop pop pop_  of the stitches of her wounds as they reopened to bleed anew. "Elle…" She wanted to calm down, but they'd passed that point already. Everything that she'd been bottling up for weeks exploded from her in a rush.

"It's my problem," she insisted. "Not yours…" Then louder - "So just…just…shut the fuck up and leave me alone! Just leave me alone…It's  _my_   choice… _mine_ …" Her fist pounded against his chest. Her fingers dug into his sweater, and her hands shook him. Anger. Fury. Helplessness. Sorrow. Hurt. Fear - they all churned within her chest like boiling lava. She screamed insults at him - horrible, hurtful words that she knew that she'd regret. Yet still, he held her, running his hand down her back in slow circles. Even then, she kept shouting at him, words blurring together into wave upon wave of sobs.

It took time, but eventually her strength faded. Her tears dried up. Her anger ebbed. There were no more venomous words left to say. No more pain that she could transfer. Just a blissful numbness - the sort of reprieve she hadn't even known she needed. Above her, Seth rested his chin on the crown of her head.

"Are you going to be OK?" he asked.

"I don't know…" she admitted. "Would  _you_  be?" He pulled back, and when she saw his face again, his eyes were glistening with moisture.

"Go to Alaska, Elle," Seth said hoarsely. "You have to go. If you don't leave now, you never will."

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Her dousing in the rain had consequences. The next day, Elle was groggy and feverish, lost in a state of half-delirium that not even the best over the counter products could cure. She tried gulping down cups of hot tea and overdosing on vitamins, but it was too late. She was sick, and all she could do now was blunder through it with the hopes that her immune system would fight it off soon. Elle couldn't remember the last time she was this ill. She'd had strep in high school once, but nothing major since then.

 _What did you expect?_  - logic demanded.  _Wandering around in the rain then sitting under an air conditioner for five hours. You might not be a doctor, but you don_ _'t need to be one to have common sense._  She couldn't argue with that. Whatever happened now, the only one she could blame was herself. Still, irritated with how much she was allowing this entire situation to affect her work ethic, Elle tried to get up and get ready for a day in the lab. She was, however, so dizzy that she could barely make it across the room. In the end, she ended up explaining the situation to her friend.

"Stay in bed," Seth grumbled at her over the phone. "Turn on the humidifier, pile up some blankets, and keep warm. I know I said I wouldn't take care of you, but…do you need me to come over?"

"No, it's fine," Elle told him with a confidence she didn't feel. Honestly, she just wanted to be alone today. She needed to think.

"Alright. Well call me if it gets worse or if you need a Tylenol delivery. I'll tell Owens you're out with Bubonic. Since it's your first absence this year, I'm sure he'll be OK with you turning in the data tomorrow." She heard him chuckle. "Maybe I'll even bring you some canned chicken soup when I'm done in lab. Canned should be safe, right?"

"Yeah…thanks, Seth," she croaked. "You're always helping me..."

"Don't get all emotional on me now. It's creepy. And think about what I said, alright? You promised."

"Yeah…" He started saying something else, but she cut him off. The pounding in her head made his voice sound much louder than it was. After they ended the call, Elle followed his advice. She took her down blanket out from the storage compartment in her closet and snuggled under it. No matter how hard she tried though, she couldn't fall asleep. She'd discovered, over the past several weeks, that sleep was an elusive thing. Just when she wanted to capture it and sink into its soothing darkness, it ran from her. Instead, she tossed and turned, sticky sweat building on her skin until she felt itchy all over. Since she couldn't rest, she settled for thinking about what Seth had told her yesterday.

 _Go to Alaska, Elle_ _…If you don't leave now, you never will…_

Seth's advice was sound. Elle knew that he was right. The same day after their argument, she penned a reply to the university in Alaska, but when the time came to send it, she hesitated once again. Questions and doubts tormented her. Was this really for the best? Did this mean that she was giving up on the man she loved? Although she knew that it could only lead to more pain, Elle decided to see the Professor before she mailed her response. Too bad that she couldn't do that today. And she'd left the letter in the drawer of her workstation, too, so there was no way that she could deliver it even if she somehow found the strength to get dressed and go to the post office.

After what felt like an eternity, the ceiling began to blur above her. Wonderful relaxing tendrils of sleep began to settle over her, muting her racing thoughts with a salve of empty darkness. In her mind's eye, Elle saw that forest again. The ruins. The statue of the wolf. Something was familiar about it. For unknown reasons, the wolf reminded her of her Professor.

 _Of Solas_  - her weary mind insisted.  _Solas...Solas..._

She'd never be able to call him that.

The statue of the wolf hovered before her. In her delirious hallucinations, she walked towards it. The Professor's name echoed in her thoughts, syllables raining one after another until something else came. Another name. Straining her senses to hear it, Elle reached out with her hand. She thought to catch this memory before it left her, but just as she was getting closer -

The phone rang.

Elle started, her body snapping into rigid alertness. She groaned when her muscles protested, but reached for the phone nonetheless. "Hello?" she rasped, scratching at her watering eyes. "Lavellan speaking." Who could it be? Surely not Seth. He wouldn't have disturbed her sleep. Maybe it was Dr. Owens calling to bitch about her report being overdue. There was a pause over the line. Bad connection? Sometimes the signal here was atrocious. The bad weather didn't help matters, either. "Hello?" she tried again, clearing her throat to speak up louder.

"Ellara?" That voice brought her to full attention. She blinked to clear her vision and sat up straight in bed, all discomfort momentarily forgotten.

"P-Professor?" Not sure why she was suddenly nervous, Elle swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up.

"I apologize for disturbing you."

"N-No! Not at all, Professor. What can I do for you?" She started pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth across the room.

"Were you resting? Did I wake you?"

"No, no, it's fine."

"I heard you weren't feeling well." Back and forth. He'd heard? From who?

"It's just a seasonal thing. Probably allergies or something." She raked a hand through her sweat-dampened hair, her palms brushing over the searing heat of her forehead. "Do you need me for something, Professor?"

"You weren't at the lecture yesterday and I was…concerned." The pacing ground to a halt. Elle's heart leapt into her throat. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. He'd noticed? He'd seen that she was absent and had been worried enough to call? "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," she rushed to answer. "Like I said, it's just allergies. I'm feeling much better today."

"I'm glad." Even over the phone, she swore that she could see a small smile tug at his lips. Or did she imagine it? "I do have a request for you. However, if you aren't up for it, please don't feel like I'm pressuring you."

"What can I do for you, Professor?"

"I know that it's a little sudden, but I would like you to accompany me for dinner this evening." Elle's breath stalled in her lungs. What did he just say? She floundered for a second. "Ellara? Are you there?"

"Y-Yes! I mean…dinner? What for?" Oh, no. Did she sound too excited? Too eager?

"The Chair of the department has noticed how much progress we've made on the project. He wanted to congratulate me personally on my most recent accomplishments. Of course, I told him that none of it would have been possible without you. Naturally, I would like you to be at my side tonight so that he can speak with you himself about the breakthroughs we've achieved."

"W-Well...you are the head of the project," she protested. "I guess...would it really be OK for me to be there?"

"Of course. I need you there, Ellara. I couldn't have accomplished so much without your valuable help and insight."

"You need me?" she half whispered. "With you?"

"I do."

 _Oh God_ _…thank you…thank you so much_ …This was exactly what she'd been waiting for. A sign that would show her what she needed to do. Now she was glad that she'd forgotten the letter in her lab. She was so glad that she'd been too sick to mail it.

"Will you be able to attend?...Ellara?"

"Yes," she breathed out as a sigh, snapping out of her daze. "Of course I'll go. What time is the dinner?"

"I can pick you up in my car at six. Does that suit your schedule?"

"Yes. Six." She looked at the alarm clock on her bedside table. Green glowing digits hummed the numbers:  **4:45**.

"I'll start getting ready now, Professor."

"I'll be waiting."

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By the time six o'clock rolled around, Elle was exhausted. She'd managed to shower, blow dry her hair, tug on the nearest nice dress that fit into the category of "business casual" and had even been able to put on some make-up. Finding shoes to match her dress had been tedious, but fortunately she'd managed to acquire at least several pairs of acceptable heels over the past three years for the purpose of presentations and conferences.

 _This isn_ _'t a date. This isn't a date_ \- she reminded herself with every restless adjustment she made to her appearance until she felt like she might be chanting a Buddhist litany. Every time she imagined seeing the Professor all dressed up, however, she forgot all about those words. So what if this wasn't a date? He said that he  _needed_  her. Surely that meant that he saw her as more than just one of his students - if not as a woman, then at least as someone he could rely on.

As she was clipping on her earrings, a knock sounded at her door. Doing her best to steady her breathing and get past her grogginess and dizziness, Elle rushed to invite in her guest. When she opened the door, she put on her most cheerful smile, hoping that her illness and sluggishness would go unnoticed.

"Ellara," the Professor said. "You look wonderful." His expression was reserved, but the smile lines that appeared at the corners of his eyes hinted at his unspoken and pleasant surprise. He looked much younger dressed in a black jacket and slimming dark pants. Not that he'd ever looked very old. She'd guessed that he must be around 40, but seeing him now made her wonder. His suit hinted at a lean and fit figure. Standing with one hand in his pocket, he looked taller too. He'd shed his glasses for contacts, and the change brought out the azure of his eyes. A silver watch accented the masculine line of his wrist. If Elle's face wasn't already burning from fever, it would have been burning now. He looked incredible.  _A_ _nd_ he'd complimented her, though she was certain that she looked mediocre compared to him.

"You look good too, Professor. That is, I'm so used to seeing you in a baggy lab coat…" She laughed nervously. "I feel a little under-dressed, but this was so short notice."

"You are beautiful," the Professor claimed. "I'm certain that all eyes will be on you this evening."

 _Damn him_  - a part of her practically wailed. How was she supposed to keep her cool when he said things like that? Was it just lip service, though? Or did he mean it? Did he feel as flustered as she did seeing her all dolled up and clean? With a stroke of courage, she stepped up to him and adjusted his tie. Her heart was pounding so fast that she wondered if he could hear it. He raised a brow at her actions, but Elle didn't waver. Instead, she made a point to stare at the buttons of his shirt. His body heat enveloped her until her entire form resonated with his nearness. Up close, she could smell the faint scent of cologne and aftershave. Spicy and masculine. If she hugged him, if she pressed her ear against his chest, would that aura envelop her?

His silence worried her, though. Had she tarried too long at her task? Elle shyly looked up at him. Their eyes met. And held.

"There," she said, wiggling the tail end of the tie into the keeper loop behind it. "It's, um, straight now." She expected him to step back and away from her, to put distance between them as he always did. What she couldn't have anticipated was -

"Your hair looks lovely like this," he murmured and smoothed a few fingers over the wavy strands that brushed against her chest. On the way down, calloused fingertips grazed over the curve of her neck. Just barely touching. Just enough to force her to suppress a shiver. "It's grown, hasn't it?" The corners of his eyes tipped upwards as the oceans of his eyes softened. In that moment, Elle could have stopped breathing and she wouldn't have noticed. Or cared. That was the look...the one he'd given her in the dream. She wavered dizzily on her feet, wondering if it was the fever that was responsible or if he was weaving some kind of spell over her.

"It's probably grown out a bit since...uh, Professor?" She'd started off strong, but her words faded into jarbled syllables when the same hand he'd used to stroke her hair came back up to hover near her ear.

"Your face is pale, and your cheeks are a little flushed," he frowned, his thumb just barely resting on the side of her face. "Are you certain that you feel alright?" Elle nodded, unable to even fathom speaking right now.

 _God...if I die now, I wouldn't care..._ _please don't let this moment end..._

But of course, it had to. She knew it as he did, and the second that he realized how much the atmosphere between them had changed, he hardened his expression, lowered his hand, and took a step back.

"We should go. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Professor," she nodded.

 _Yes, Solas -_ her thoughts cried out, never to be heard.

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Dinner was a blur of colors, polite monologues, and a whole lot of listening to a single man brag about his own success. The Chair of the department - Roger, as he wanted to be called - wasn't what Elle could have expected. He was a much older man, in his sixties, who seemed to genuinely enjoy the sound of his own voice. Although he'd invited the Professor there to speak about his project and his breakthroughs, they only spent several minutes discussing the actual research. The rest of the three or so hours were devoted to the man preening his feathers, talking about how smart he was as a younger man and how he'd earned his current position with a mixture of talent and hard work.

It wasn't his boasting that really bothered her, however. Elle was more offended by the way he was blatantly ogling her the entire evening. The dress she wore wasn't overly revealing, nor was the fashion too open or particularly seductive. Yet Roger couldn't seem to keep his attention off her breasts and on the conversation. His gaze unnerved her and made her skin crawl. It infuriated her because, as a woman, she was already a minority in her field. Him treating her like this - without shame or guilt - made her understand that he did not respect her at all.

As the evening drew to a close, Elle was so relieved to be away from the man that she almost tripped in her haste to retrieve her jacket from the coat check. She even volunteered to turn in the Professor's valet ticket. She wanted to go home. She wanted to get into a warm shower, take her Tylenol, and sleep until she wasn't sick anymore. That was another problem entirely. Her fever hadn't gotten better at all. If anything, it felt like her cold was getting worse.

"Did you enjoy yourself, Ellara?" the Professor asked on the way home. The atmosphere in the car was buzzing with tension. Elle felt sick, tired, and frustrated. If the Professor picked up on her irritation, he gave no sign.

"I...did...Roger is clearly an accomplished man," she said with barely concealed spite. At her terse tone, the Professor chuckled. God, how she loved that sound.

"He certainly likes to exaggerate his own importance."

"Did you know he was like that?"

"I did."

"Why did you bring me along? We hardly talked about the project at all." The Professor was silent for several minutes. Elle let out a pent up breath and turned to the window. She watched other cars and buildings zoom by in lines of blue, green, and red. Night had fallen over the city while they'd been at the restaurant. "I hardly get to see the city at night," she commented. The trip home took roughly thirty minutes with traffic. When the Professor pulled up in front of her apartment, she thanked him and reached for the door, thinking that he didn't want to talk about anything anymore. When she tugged on the knob, he stopped her with a hand on her elbow.

"Ellara," he cut in. "Don't go yet. There is something I wish to convey to you. Rather, to ask you." The serious note in his voice caught her attention. She turned in the leather seat, giving him her full focus.

"What is it?"

"Tonight was for you. I wanted to show you that not everyone you meet will be your friend or your ally in this field. Roger is just one of those men. He is selfish and arrogant, but because of his position, no one will challenge that. When you find work and are trying to get tenure, you will have to attend many such evenings with many such individuals."

"Many such 'men' is what you mean to say," she corrected him. "He certainly wasn't looking at me like a coworker." Mutinous silence again. "Not that you noticed. Or cared." That was unfair. Elle knew that she shouldn't have said something like that. Had he been her boyfriend, she might have been allowed to expect something from him. However, that was far from the case.

"I _did_ notice," the Professor insisted. A muscle worked in his jaw. His grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel.

"Was that all, Professor? If it was, then I should be going now." Without waiting to hear what he had to say - if anything at all - Elle tugged on the doorknob and stepped out of the car. Dizziness assailed her immediately, and she stumbled a little. Just as her heels clicked on the pavement of the entryway to her apartment building, she heard the car door slam behind her. Footsteps followed. With shaking hands, Elle reached into her purse to try and find her keys. Unfortunately, she wasn't quick enough.

"What did you want me to do?" the Professor growled behind her. 

"Nothing," Elle shook her head, refusing to look at him. He grabbed her elbow with surprising strength, hurting her as he forced her to turn around. His eyes blazed fire.

"What did you envision would happen if I was to point out his perversions?" She tried to back away from him until there was nowhere to run. Yet still he followed, leaning in close, an expression of anger twisting his features into a frightening mask. "What do you expect from me? A brawl in the restaurant? A duel of honor for the innocent maiden? "

" _Nothing_...I just..." Silence again. "I'm sorry I even said anything. It was stupid." That seemed to take the steam out of his temper. He cleared his throat and let go of her elbow. 

"I won't always be there, Ellara. I don't want you to hide behind me when you are more than capable and strong enough to rely on yourself."

"Won't always be where?" she blinked.

"Here. With you. Nor will you always be here with me."

"Sorry, Professor, but I'm not sure where you're going with this..."

"Alaska," he interjected. It took a moment for what he was saying to register. Elle felt the blood rush out of her face.

"How did you...?"

"I heard about the good news," he told her, forcing himself to back away from her. He placed his hands in his pockets, taking a comfortable relaxed stance. From all appearances, he looked genuinely pleased.

"But how did you know?"

"I found your letter on top of your workstation yesterday and noticed that you'd forgotten to take it to the post office. The deadline for responses had passed, but I wrote a personal letter of recommendation and mailed it with your reply. I know the head of the project there. He will be lenient." He smiled, but instead of being happy, Elle thought she might throw up. Nausea crawled its way up her gut. Her head throbbed, heart racing erratically. "Congratulations. The facilities in Alaska are top notch. I'm certain that you will find what you've been searching for there."

The ground heaved beneath her feet. Elle tried to desperately grasp what he was saying, but couldn't. "The letter was sealed. How could you have known what it was?" The Professor raised a brow.

"I asked Mr. Mercer about it. Since you two seemed to be close, I thought he might know."

_Seth! How **could**  you?_

"You shouldn't have mailed it. I...I haven't decided yet. If I'm going, that is."

"Oh?" He tilted his head. "Do you have some doubts?"

"You could say that…"

"Perhaps I can help you overcome them."

"Well…they would want me to stay for so long…over a year…and there's our project here. I'm already invested in it. Even Roger has taken interest in it, despite appearances. I can't just leave everything here unfinished."

"Nonsense," the Professor shook his head. "Don't think of it like that. This is an exciting opportunity for you, Ellara. You should take it."

"Does that mean…that it's alright with you? If I'm gone for that long?" His brow furrowed.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"I mean that…you won't be upset? If leave for one, two, maybe three years?" Her voice cracked. "Maybe more..."

He looked at her without a trace of emotion, his pale eyes reflecting nothing. "I don't see why I would be upset. This is a wonderful opportunity for you, and I believe that you should take advantage of it posthaste."

Elle felt like a fool. Suddenly, everything she'd gone through this afternoon - the brief glimmer of hope that he might see her as someone important to him - felt shallow and cheap.  _She_ felt cheap. The dress, the heels, the hair, the make-up…all of it was out of place. If she could have, she would have hidden her face under a rock for all of time.

"Professor," she heard herself say.

"What is it?" he asked with pleasant neutrality.

"I can't...Do you really not know? After all this time…are you really going to tell me that you haven't noticed how I feel about you?"

"How you feel? Ellara, I'm not sure what you - " His voice faded in and out. Elle's vision went dark. She tried to blink to clear it, but nothing helped. Eventually, she couldn't even tell where up or down was. Shit. What a perfect time to have vertigo.

"What do you mean when you say that - Ellara?" A pause. "Are you alright?" She tried to mumble something, to reassure him that she'd be fine in just a minute, but all that came out was a panicked - "oh" - as she felt the ground tilt up under her feet.

"Ellara!" Something wrapped around her - something warm and solid. It was the last thing she registered before all thoughts slipped away.


	3. Part III

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Elle stood on a precipice.

Above her stretched a vast expanse of gray sky, churning with plush clouds and flickering with flashes of blue lightning. Below her, the mountain range opened wide its maw, its gullet streaked with snow, rocks, and earth. Its stomach roiled with deep feral growls, toughened skin reverberating with the clapping of thunder above. To her left, banners snapped in the howling wind - red, black, and green blazing in the wake of the dying sun.

 _The sky_ _…look at the sky…_

When she obeyed, Elle's eyes widened in horror. There, just on the horizon, she could see that the clouds were torn open. No. Not just the clouds. The very fabric of the atmosphere was ripped apart. A vortex swirled in the center of the gashes, so massive that it dwarfed the mountains below. Green light surrounded it, emerald ribbons drawn into the seething void. She wanted to move towards it, to step closer and to see just what the hell was going on, but as soon as she took one step forward, she felt weightless.

Instinct saved her from what would have surely been a fatal fall. With a gasp, she looked down at her feet, realizing that she was standing atop a narrow stone railing of a balcony. Precariously balanced, Elle's body broke out in a cold sweat. Yet after a split second of doubt, she realized that she was in no danger of tumbling down. Her muscles were lithe and strong; her body was thin and petite; her bones felt lighter than air. Like a bird balancing on the stem of wheat, she hardly swayed, and she knew that she was safe. Elle relaxed and remained where she was, somehow feeling at home at this height. She turned her eyes back to the horizon, brushing back a stray lock of raven black hair.

 _Hey_ _…turn around…_

Elle's head swiveled to the right. She wasn't alone on the railing. Beside her stood another girl - a perfect reflection of herself. Seeing her was like looking into a mirror save for a few obvious differences. Her ears, for one, were pointed and long. Her black hair was much longer and braided into a thick rope that stretched down to her waist. And her skin was darker - sun-kissed and tanned - as though she spent all of her time out in the wilderness.

"Who are you?"

 _I am lost -_ the girl mouthed in silence. Yet Elle heard her as surely as though she'd spoken out loud. The girl raised her hand, and Elle noticed that she was holding an enormous sword with dragons at its hilt.

"Where are we?"

 _You have no right to know -_ the girl replied voicelessly.  _Thief. Pretender. You are_ _ **not**_ _me. Nor will you ever be._

"Thief?" Before Elle could say anything else, the girl rushed towards her, sword drawn. Though she wanted to, Elle couldn't dodge. Afraid to fall should she make a sudden move, she could only hold her arms up in front of her in defense. As expected, the gesture did no good. The girl collided with her with a clap that sounded like the thunder above. The sword slid into Elle's chest - a cold squishy sensation that ripped away her breath. Her heart lurched, squeezing around steel as it beat in fear.

She almost doubled over in pain when she realized…

…that nothing had happened at all.

In an instant, the girl's face disappeared from her memories. She looked down at her chest, not sure why she expected to see blood there. Her skin thrummed in pain, but she couldn't have said where it came from. She looked back towards the tear in the sky, her thoughts clearing as though she'd been doused in cold water.

 _A dream_ _…_ she reasoned. T _his is just another dream_ _…_

This felt familiar. She'd seen this before, though she'd never been to mountains like this. More fantasies that her mind had conjured up, no doubt. And the sky. That definitely  _couldn_ _'t_  be real. Every detail was painted in vivid colors again, just like the dream she'd had weeks ago. Sensations were blurred - everything except for a painful heat that bubbled just below the surface of her skin. Something struggled to surface in the restless sea of her memories, but it was as slippery as an eel in her palms.

"Ellara," a voice behind her called. Elle's heart wheezed and shriveled in her chest. Not this again. Maybe if she didn't turn around - maybe if she didn't acknowledge his presence - he would disappear. This was  _her_ dream, after all. She could choose what she saw and what she didn't. Couldn't she?

Even as she told herself all of this, she felt him drawing nearer, his voice calling to more than just her immediate attention. Something else responded, too - that fragment of memory that she could never catch. Her left hand pulsed and burned, and when she raised her palm, Elle saw a long tear gouging open her skin. Her hand shook, tendrils of green light swirling from within the gash instead of blood.

" _Ir'telhim,"_ her lips moved to say. She didn't know the words, but she  _did_. They stretched from deep inside her - vague as memories of birth yet as native as the feel of air within her lungs. Her arms wrapped around herself. " _Ir_ _'telhim."_

 _I am myself again_  - her mind translated.

" _You always have been,"_  the Professor told her in the same beautiful language, and somehow all the words made sense. He stepped closer, now so near that she could feel his magic reaching out to hers.

" _Stop,"_ she warned him. He obeyed. " _You are not welcome here._ _"_

" _I know._ _"_

" _And yet you come here despite knowing what it will do to me."_ Silence. Even the wind had calmed as though listening to what they had to say. As seconds ticked by, Elle felt…odd. Her skin felt…alien. This scene was a movie that unfolded before her eyes. This body was hers, yet something inside her insisted that it wasn't.

" _I am sorry, my heart,"_ the Professor said.

" _You_ _ **have**_ _no heart,_ _"_ the stranger within Elle replied.

" _Only_   _because you have taken it."_

" _I took nothing,_ _"_ she snapped. A spike of anger - again, not her own.

" _I gave it. Freely."_ At that, Elle turned around, finally coming face to face with the Professor. He wore the same clothes as he did in the last dream - a light frayed tunic and dark emerald pants. Relief flushed through her veins. Relief. Need. And love. She shed the stranger's anger like a second skin, peeling off layer by layer until there was nothing left but raw vulnerability.

"Solas," Elle called out, and this time it was her speaking. "Solas, I'm so glad you're here. I feel strange." She wavered on her feet, feeling the frigid breath of the abyss behind her. It exhaled frost, raking goosebumps into the flesh of her spine. "The mountains," Elle murmured. "They're so hungry…it feels like they'll swallow me whole. And there's a woman. She's here, with me…in my mind…" She could feel her clawing to get out, burrowing through her memories like a worm. "I don't understand…"

"It's alright,  _ma sa'la_ _th,"_ the Professor assured her, and his voice was different somehow. Gentler. Acidic pain scarred his face, his pale eyes harrowed and haunted. Something glistened over the blue of his irises - a faint moisture. "I'm here now. It's alright.  _Ne sahlin theneras._ _"_

"I know this is a dream," she said, her voice cracking. She raised her hands and clutched at her chest. "I can reason through that. I know this isn't real, but oh, God…" Her heart throbbed, as though it was still shriveling and turning to stone. An image flashed in her mind's eye — a sword stabbing through her. "This pain is so real. It hurts," she gasped. "My heart…and my head…I feel like I'm losing my mind…like I'm burning from inside…"

"Don't be afraid. Come to me, Ellara," the Professor urged. His voice was strained, his body tense and on edge. "Come."

"Why?" she asked him. "Why  _should_  I?" Her face crumpled. "You'll never love me. Not outside this…place…" she gestured to the scenery. He stepped closer, step by step, as she talked until he was close enough to reach out and grab her hand. "I can't do this anymore," Elle said as she turned back to the abyss.

"These dreams…feeling like I'm not in my own skin…seeing these images…basking in your love here while I have to endure your apathy when I wake up…" Her lips pressed together in a mutinous line. "I can't…I  _won_ _'t_ …I'm going to end this dream before it can hurt me any more than this..." Elle lifted a foot and leaned forward. The void looked so tempting - a darkness that would soothe her if only she had the courage to enter it. All she needed was to let go of the man behind her - to cut the threads that bound her to him.

"Please, Ellara," the Professor begged, and there was something satisfying about hearing him begging  _her_ for something. "Don't do this. Don't make me watch you do this again and again…" But she had made up her mind, and there was nothing he could say to stop her. The worms dug through her mind, chewing at her flesh, multiplying and splitting faster than she could keep up. More images came:

A lake. Statues. Fresh grass.

Lips. Hands. The friction of fabric on skin.

Then love and courage as something was taken with the hope that something would be given in return.

Finally, voices.

 _You are so beautiful_ _…_

 _I_ _'m sorry, but I can't…_

 _Please, vhenan_ _…_

 _You were never going to wake up_ _…_

 _Walk the Fade with me_ _…in Uthenera…I will not let you go again…_

 _Please, don_ _'t leave me…_

"Stop it," Elle gasped, eyes wide and nails burrowing into the skin on her chest. The worms converged, eating into her nerves and stripping them to their raw innards. There was the sword again, pushing farther and farther into her heart. Pushing. Pushing. Pushing…

 _You will_ _ **never**_ _be me -_ the woman's voice hissed beside her ear.  _Thief_ _…pretender…impostor…you will_ _ **never**_ _know what it was like_ _…you will_ _ **never**_ _know what it is to_ _ **truly**_ _love and accept all of who he is_ _…_

More images: the Professor shrouded in a monstrous shadow; eyes as red as blood blinking from the darkness; black claws and white fangs. Tearing. Rending of flesh. Snapping of bone. Lives taken. Lives stolen. The Professor's skin soaked in blood.

"Stop it,  _please_!" She felt herself disappearing. Everything that made up who she was faded and drowned in whatever and whomever was rummaging through her mind. And then there was the abyss - so tempting, so inviting, so free of all these voices and these fragments. Desperate to get away from it all, Elle leaned forward until she no longer felt the railing beneath her.

"Ellara!" the Professor's voice echoed from a distant place. For a moment, she felt free. For a moment, as she watched the mountains tip and become her sky, she imagined that she could grow wings and soar. In that precious space of time, Elle felt lighter than the air, as though all the weight was lifted from her shoulders with a merciful hand.

But then she stopped. Her flight was cut short. Something wrapped around her waist and jerked. Pain stabbed into her gut as though a spear had been run through it. A second of confusion as she tumbled backwards and landed against something hard. She couldn't even say anything before something cold wrapped around her wrists like a vice and pulled her arms up above her head. The Professor loomed over her, his body pinning hers to the stone of the balcony. Elle met his gaze and flinched. Fiery blue. Azure lakes that swirled with a lurking darkness.

Something wet and hot dripped onto her cheek. A tear? How? She wasn't crying.

"How many times must I see this?" the Professor hissed. "How many times must you make me watch before you are satisfied?" His brows drew together, his nose wrinkling and his lips pulling back from his teeth. He was furious. "Is it not enough that I have faced these centuries alone? Is the pain I've felt not enough to slake your thirst for vengeance? Why must you pull me to you every time, only to break me as you deny me…?"

" _Deny you_ _ **what**_ _?_ _"_  the stranger inside Elle bit out.

"A life with you," he said. "That is all I want…a life with you. Beside you. To protect you. Forever."

" _You cannot have that. Whatever I am, I am not immortal._ _"_

"There is a way…" His eyes were intense, cutting into her with all the mercy of a chisel boring into ice. "There  _is_  a way."

" _You have tried it before. You've seen what it will do to her. This frail pathetic body can't withstand it."_ The stranger pulled on invisible strings; Elle's lips stretched into a bitter smile. A chuckle bubbled past her throat - acrid as old arsenic. Elle thought she might vomit.  _"Oh, this_ _ **is**_ _interesting. You_ _'ve seen what that ritual will do, yet you're willing to try again."_

"No," the Professor denied. "I will  _not_ do that to her again. This time I swore to stay away…to stay out of her life…to give her no hope…" He touched her face, the barest and gentlest of caresses. "I can't bear to see her suffer like she did before…better that I stay away entirely. Better that she forget me…" Another hot tear fell onto her cheek. Odd, for the Professor wasn't crying either.

"Professor," Elle whispered, driving back the stranger inside her with every ounce of willpower that she had.

"Ellara." His features softened. "Ellara, do you wish to forget me?"

"Forget you?"

"Yes. Do you wish to move on? To live your life without me? I can help you…I can erase my existence from your memories…"

"No!" she cried out, struggling against his grip on her arms. Panic wormed its way through her stomach. "I  _don_ _'t!"_

"Yet you jumped…you were ready to die…"

"I was just…I'm so tired of pining after you…I'm tired of wishing for something I can't have." His eyes grew distant - dull; dead. "Solas," she whispered, terrified to see the light fading from his gaze.

"Think on it carefully, my heart…you would be free…you would never see me again…"

"That isn't what I want!" she insisted. Just imagining it was unbearable. Never seeing him again? Never hearing his voice? Never bringing him tea and watching him frown in displeasure at the flavor? Never watching his profile as he pored over books and papers?  _Hypocrite!_  - her mind accused.  _Weren_ _'t you the one who was ready to jump off a balcony to get away from him?_  But this was just a dream. If she would have jumped, she would have just woken up in her bed. Right?

"I can erase your memories," he murmured. "I can…"

"Stop it!" She wrenched one arm free; then the other. As she wrapped them around his neck and pulled, he fell against her, his head resting over her heart. His warmth was there, but not his weight. She forced him to look at her, and before he could protest or say anything else to hurt them both, she pulled him into a long and hungry kiss.

"Ellara," he breathed against her mouth.

" _This_ is what I want," she told him between kisses. "You. All I've ever wanted was  _you_." He hesitated at first. Then, he slid a hand under the back of her head and pulled her closer. Something tugged on the nape of her neck, and Elle realized that she was waking up. "Not yet," she pleaded. "Just a little longer."

"This is just a dream," the Professor whispered against her. "You must wake up now."

"No. I don't want to. Please, let me stay a little longer." The scenery disappeared. The balcony vanished. In the end, Elle was left alone to shout against the darkness, feeling even more lost than before.

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The darkness was everywhere. Above; below; all around; even  _inside_  her. Sometimes it was quiet. Sometimes she thought she heard strange sounds: static, ringing, the sound of water dripping against something metallic. And sometimes, she could even see red eyes looking back out at her through the shadows. Not feral this time; not angry. Stoic. Maybe even protective. Elle didn't know whether she was still dreaming or whether she was seeing a hallucination. She tried to open her eyes, but it was hot. So very very hot. As one would flinch away from an inferno, so she shied away from waking. Her head, when she could feel it on her shoulders, was pounding. Her body hurt. Her muscles ached and throbbed. She couldn't know, but she imagined that this is how she would feel if she'd been run over by a herd of stampeding bulls.

"Ellara…"

That was the Professor's voice, wasn't it? She  _had_ to be imagining that, right? Why else would he sound so sad? So concerned? The last thing she remembered was coming home after the disastrous dinner with their mutual superior. She'd said goodbye to the Professor and entered her messy apartment, crashing into bed as soon as she could manage it. But wait…that wasn't right. Hadn't they been talking about something at her door? It was something important. Hadn't they been…

_I don't see why I would be upset. This is a wonderful opportunity for you, and I believe that you should take advantage of it posthaste._

That's right. They'd been talking about her potential trip to Alaska. She'd even confronted him about her feelings, and right when he was in the middle of ripping her heart out of her chest, she'd…fainted? Collapsed? The rest of her memory was a blank, filled only with the nightmare and thoughts of what all of it could possibly mean.

"Ellara…" There it was again, her imagination playing havoc with her gullible mind. She turned from it, hoping to tune it out. She was so tired. Her body felt like mashed lead. All she wanted was to sleep. If she got some rest, then maybe all of these crazy dreams would go away. Maybe she could wake up and pretend that she was still leading a wholesome existence.

"Wake up…" That voice was insistent, piercing through the darkness like unwanted sunlight through aged blinds.

"…tired…" she managed to slur. Something cold and soft slid against her skin. God, it felt nice. Dipping, twisting, rhythmically slipping over her face then down her neck. It pushed back the heat that was burning her alive. It made being in her skin more bearable.

"Can you hear me? Are you awake?" that voice asked her. Honestly, did he expect an answer? And such a serious question, too. If this was indeed her dream Professor, then shouldn't they be in some sort of fantastical place? Instead, her fingers curled around starchy bedsheets; her head was cushioned with a plush down pillow.

"Solas," she whispered and cracked open an eye. There he was, hovering just above her. His tie was loose, draped over his neck like a forgotten rag. The first few buttons of his dress shirt were undone. His face was serious, eyes hard and intense as blue diamonds. Dark circles stalked the faint lines beneath his eyes. He looked tired. Pale.

"Ellara, do you hurt? How do you feel? Tell me. This is important."

"Important?" she echoed lamely, mind not quite catching up to the conversation.

"You collapsed. Do you remember that?"

"No…" then, "…yeah, I think so." She turned her head and saw an unfamiliar set of double glass doors. Fresh cotton crinkled beneath her. Each movement released a cloud of tangy scent - fabric softener mixed with spicy soap. Her throat felt dry as bone. She swallowed and tried to speak. "Where am I?" The Professor offered her a glass filled with water. She drank greedily.

"My home," he said. "After you fell, I brought you here until I could determine if you needed further medical assistance."

 _His_ _ **home**_ _? -_ Elle balked. "You brought me…to your house?"

"It was the most convenient place to take you in order to make sure you were alright. I've contacted Mr. Mercer and the school and informed them of your condition."

"Seth…" she grimaced when she tried to sit up. "Seth knows I'm here?" Her chest seized, and she doubled over as violent coughs shook her body.

"I left him a voice message. That doesn't matter now. Tell me of your condition. How do you feel?" Elle looked down at herself, noting that what she was wearing  _wasn_ _'t_ what she'd passed out in.

"Professor, I don't want to be rude, but  how do you think I feel?...I'm sick. I guess it's a cold or something. Flu maybe."

"And you've only felt this way these past few days?"

"I forgot my umbrella and had to walk in the rain." 

"I see."

"Why do you ask?" 

"No reason," he said quickly. "I just wanted to understand more about why you were ill." He took the empty water glass from her and set it down on the bedside table. "Is anything else troubling you? Anything that you wish to speak of?" 

"I'm just…tired…" she croaked. "And dizzy…and so hot…"

"It's the fever," he reassured her. "Though I believe that the worst has passed." His brow furrowed. He reached for her, smoothing a hand over the side of her face.

"Are you…OK, Professor?" Elle frowned. "You look exhausted."

"When I saw you fall, I thought my heart would stop." Elle held her breath, lost in the wonder of hearing something like this from him.

"I'm sorry if I worried you," she apologized. He shook his head and pulled back his hand.

"It's alright, but you need to rest now. I'm glad to see that you're improving." She nodded, a little disappointed, and allowed him to tuck the blankets tighter around her body. When he started to stand, however, she caught at his sleeve.

"Wait…please stay…"

"I can't," he replied. "It would not be wise. Or proper. However, I will be here when you wake." She wanted to protest, but he stopped her with a sharp shake of his head.

"Rest now, Ellara. Sleep." And as though that word was some sort of magic spell, Elle's eyes closed and she drifted off once more.

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The next time she opened her eyes, Elle felt much better. She yawned and stretched, testing the limits of her sore muscles. She couldn't have said how much time had passed since she'd spoken with the Professor, but figured it had to be at least a day or two. Her bones were stiff, her body sluggish and heavy. She had to have been asleep for a while. Elle turned to the bedside table on her right and saw a handwritten note lying on top of it. Picking it up, she unfolded it and read the contents:

 _Ellara. If you wake up before I return, don_ _'t be concerned. I've stepped out on a brief errand. You should remain in bed. However, if you feel well enough to stand, feel free to use the shower. I've set aside some clothes that you may wear until I can take you home._

_I've left your cell in the drawer of this table. Mr. Mercer was most concerned about you._

_Be careful when moving about. You may experience some weakness after being abed for such a long period of time. When you feel well enough, please come downstairs. There is much we need to discuss._

After reading it, Elle pressed the note against her chest. She imagined the Professor writing it - imagined the care that he must have put into his neat handwriting. How could she  _not_ love him? After all this, how could she just give up? If she could have, Elle might have stayed in bed. It was the Professor's after all, and what other chance would she have to see how he lived and breathed when no one was there to scrutinize him? But then, the need to wash the icky sweat off her body overpowered her fanciful curiosity, and Elle swung her legs over the side of the bed to make her way towards the bathroom.

Teachers didn't make a lot of money doing what they did. For that reason, Elle was surprised at the luxury of the Professor's home. The bathroom floor was accented with black and white tile while the counters and the shower were made of the same color marble. A pile of clothes was neatly folded next to the sink along with a packaged bar of lavender soap and a towel. Seeing those reminded her once again that she was wearing something other than her dinner dress. Elle looked at her reflection in the mirror.

Aside from her bed hair and somewhat smudged eye make-up, she examined her clothing. Someone had dressed her in gray sweats and a button up linen shirt. Beneath it all - to her surprise - she wore nothing. Not even her underwear. The length of the pants and sleeves hinted that the owner of these clothes was taller than her and broad-shouldered. As far as she knew, the Professor lived alone and had no maids. He couldn't have asked Seth to change her out of her dress; nor had he helped her out of it as far as she could remember. That meant that…The obvious truth stared her in the face, but Elle was far too embarrassed to admit that she saw or understood it. 

_I shouldn't think about it right now…_

So, letting that fact slide, Elle stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower. The warm water felt blissful. She washed her body and even her hair, allowing all evidence of her illness to trickle off with the soapy residue. When she was done and dressed in a fresh set of what could only be the Professor's casual sweats, she padded out of the bedroom and into the hallway.

"Professor?"she called, wondering if he'd come home yet. Nothing. The house was quiet and still. Elle sighed and decided to make her way downstairs to the kitchen. Her stomach growled. How long had it been since she'd eaten? She imagined what she would say to the Professor when he returned. Thank you? How long was I out? Why did you bring me here? Why not just leave me at my place when you had the keys? Who changed me into your PJ's? That particular question stood out the most. A flush warmed her cheeks, and she immediately chased the thought away.

 _Hey_ _…turn around…_

Elle started when the familiar voice belonging to the girl in her recent nightmare whispered right beside her ear. She gasped and whirled around only to find that she was, indeed, alone in the hallway. A door caught her attention. Though the rest of the hallway was dark, a light flickered beneath this particular door. Curious, she stepped towards it but hesitated at the precipice. She knew that she shouldn't go about the Professor's house, randomly exploring in his private space. In fact, she was about to step away from the doorway when that voice whispered to her again:

 _Coward -_ it hissed.  _You proclaim to love him, yet you know nothing about him._

Gritting her teeth at the insult, Elle wrapped her hand around the door knob, pulled open the door, and stepped inside. What she saw made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

"What…is this?" she whispered to no one in particular as she examined the room. The Professor's hobby was painting murals. She'd often spent time talking about research with him in the basement of this very house while he worked his magic on every available surface. Once he completed a project, he would paint over it in white and start again. He loved to reproduce scenes from nature. Oceans, islands, trees, mountains, dense forests. Sometimes, he even drew pictures from the stories he told her. Dragons, battle-hardened heroes, noble bards who hid daggers in their corsets and carried out secret assassinations in the dead of night.

But this…this was something else entirely.

From every corner and every free space on the walls, the ceiling, and even some of the floor, colors and shapes peered out at her in perfect and beautiful reproduction of human faces. At first, Elle thought that she might be hallucinating again, for each face was the same. The same shape; the same raven black hair; the same emerald green eyes. They were all paintings of the same woman. They were all paintings of  _her_. The only difference between each of the figures was their clothing.

Each woman wore garments from different eras of history. A kimono from the times of the Shogunate in Japan. A priestess's red and white cotton garments. A white and blue kalasiris dress from Egypt. A crimson red sarong from India. Furs and winter garments of a woman who lived among the snows of Russia. Silver armor of a lady knight. A golden Victorian ball gown. A handmaiden's green dress from the era of monarchs in France. A peasant girl's earthy conservative ensemble. Leopard skin and leather armor that draped over the muscled form of what looked like an Amazon. And more. Much much more. In each painting, the clothes changed, but the faces did not.

Elle tried to understand what she was seeing, but couldn't. Nausea filled her stomach until she had to bring a hand to her mouth. What did this mean? Why was her face painted all over these walls? Her mind balked, unable to process any of this. She shuddered and took several steps back, almost jumping out of her skin when she felt a pair of hands settle over her shoulders. She whipped around, her eyes meeting the Professor's. Sadness haunted his gaze. Sadness, but not fear. Not shame. Not regret. Elle's head spun. The ground felt like quicksand that was slowly swallowing her feet.

"I take it you're feeling better," he said just before tilting his head to examine the walls. "I'm sorry. This wasn't how I wanted you to see this," the Professor lamented. "But since you are here, please allow me to explain."

"Explain?" Elle repeated in a faint voice. "How can you possibly…what  _is_  all this…" she turned back to the paintings. "They're all…"

"You," he finished for her. "At least, women who have carried your soul through the long and winding road of time."

"Time..." she mumbled. "My soul?" He turned her back around to face him.

"Ellara, do you remember the stories we spoke of?" She nodded. "They are real.  _Magic_ , though it has transformed and evolved over centuries, is real. The visions you have been having. The dreams of ruins and mountains. They, too, are real."

"Wait…what? Dreams? How do you know about that?" The Professor held up a hand. "What are you doing?"

"Please, Ellara. Stay calm, and don't be afraid." Light gathered in the center of his palm. Bright, warm, green light. He waved his palm over his torso in a circle. Elle's vision blurred and flickered. She blinked, confused, and when she opened her eyes, the man that stood before her was no longer the Professor. Well, it was. But, it wasn't. His skin was a little darker, and his ears were long and pointed. His clothes were different - an ensemble composed of worn cotton and leather. Something hung around his neck - some sort of animal bone.

"Magic is  _real_ , Ellara," this man told her. "As real as the science that we practice and study."

"This can't be," Elle shook her head. "Am I dreaming again?" 

"No. You aren't."

"Let go of me." She pushed away from him, backing up until she felt the door knob behind her. She tried twisting it, but realized that it was locked. "Let me out of here," she gasped for air. The room seemed to shrink. Or was it her that was shrinking? "Please."

… _you will_ _ **never**_ _know what it is to_ _ **truly**_ _love and accept all of who he is_ _…_

The words of the woman from her dreams echoed in Elle's thoughts. All of who he is? What did that mean?

"What  _are_ you?" she voiced. He came closer. She flinched.

"I am the same man that you have known for nearly four years,  _da_ _'len_ ," he answered. Elle's blood froze. What had he just called her?

"That word…from my dream…"

"Yes."

Elle's knees gave out. She slid to the ground, curling her arms around her legs. "How can you possibly…?"

"Because I was  _there_ ," he declared. "I walked the Fade with you. I guided you. Made certain that you were safe."

"The Fade?" The Professor took several more steps towards her. One. Two. Four. Six. Then he bent his knees and knelt in front of her, his movements slow and careful.

"I never imagined that you would be able to enter it. Not after all that happened at the end of the last millennia."

"I don't understand…" she whispered. "Professor…I don't understand." He opened his arms, and Elle slid forward to embrace him. His aura enveloped her - spicy aftershave and crisp shampoo. Linseed oil and paints. Though he looked like a different man, his warmth was the same. His smell was the same. His eyes were the same. Elle wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her ear against his chest. His heart beat there - slow, steady, comforting.  _This_ was different, though. The Professor she knew would never embrace her like this.

"It's alright, Ellara," he soothed. "Just breathe…"

"Is this your secret?" she wondered. "Is this the reason why you won't return my love for you?" She felt his shoulders stiffen.

"Love?" He sounded surprised. Elle pushed on his chest and looked him in the eye.

"Yes. _Love._ " She glanced around the room, took in the paintings in a final attempt at understanding. When she saw the faces again, however, she wished she hadn't. There was no way that she could reconcile all of this. Not yet. "Please. Can we leave this room? I'll hear you out. I'll listen to what you have to say. On one condition."

"Anything," he promised.

"No more secrets. No more lies." She glanced at his hand. "And no... _magic._ " She choked on that last word, unable to believe that she was even mentioning it.

" _Ma nuvenin, ma sa'lath_ ," he said as he helped her to her feet.


	4. Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out a lot longer than expected, so I apologize if I missed any typos here or there. For reference, "Moire" is pronounced as "Mo-rah". I hope you guys enjoy the chapter!

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After the Professor forced Elle to drink a hot mug of herbal tea and to take some medicine, he led her back to his room and made her promise to stay in bed for the rest of the day. Elle wanted to argue. He acted as though nothing had happened in the room with the paintings, and that was frustrating. She yearned to remind him that he'd promised to explain everything to her. However, something about his demeanor stopped her. He looked even more exhausted than before - tired and worn thin. The shadows on his face had darkened; the lines at the corners of his eyes were more visible than before.

Instinct told her not to push him too far - that if she did, he might retreat entirely. The Professor was a very private person, and she already felt that she'd intruded on his personal life enough. Despite that, Elle followed him closely, worried and uneasy. Everything she'd seen and heard - the paintings, his claims about magic, and the unbelievable illusion that he'd shed in front of her - seemed like something out of a fanciful dream. She worried that if she didn't keep an eye on him, he would disappear like a mirage.

Her eyes frequently strayed to his pointed ears and the necklace he wore around his neck. Seth was the one with a focus in osteology. He could have told her what animal it was from. As for her, Elle could only wonder and marvel at how… _odd_ …all of this was. She'd known the Professor for over four years, but the man guiding her around his home resembled a complete stranger. She should have been wary of him. Even though the changes in his appearance were minimal, his aura and demeanor were unfamiliar. It was impossible, however, to distrust someone who was so clearly concerned about her well-being.

Usually, the Professor hardly noticed her presence as she worked and maneuvered around him and his hectic schedule. Now, however, Elle would have gone as far as saying that he was fussing over her.  _Are you dizzy? Are you feeling alright? Does your head pain you? The fever seems to be gone now, but you should be careful._ Being the center of his focus intimidated her. She'd never particularly perceived the difference in their age, but as he watched her closely and asked her questions about her health, Elle felt like a child under the care of a mother hen. At least, if nothing else, the mental image of that was rather amusing and helped ease her restlessness.

Elle's anxiety didn't abate as the hour wore on; however, only when she was tucked beneath his warm blankets and wrapped in the incredible aura of fabric softener, did she finally give in and attempt to remind him of his purpose.

"Professor?" she ventured.

"I know,  _da_ _'len,"_ he soothed in a gentle and calming tone. "I haven't forgotten." The corner of his mouth turned up in a small smile.

"Why do you call me that?" she blinked.

"In an old and forgotten language, it means 'little one'. I suppose that it suits you."

"I'm not exactly little," she frowned. "I'm not a child." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I guess I can't help it if I seem like one to you, though."

"Age is a factor, yes," he agreed. "Though in your case, I would augment the definition of the term to mean 'one whom I wish to protect'." His eyes flared with a bit of mischief. "Does that please you more?"

"It…does," Elle stammered, directing her stare at the covers. Her fingers twisted bits of the comforter into arbitrary shapes; she could have sworn that her ears were burning. The Professor she knew would never have said something like that with such warmth. Or at all, actually. Nor did he have such a confident and and magnetic aura. Faced with this sort of behavior, she was reminded, instead, of the Professor she'd met in her dreams - the one who embraced her; held her close; lifted her against him; kissed her…

 _Stop it, Elle. This is_ _**not** _ _the time for that._

"You must forgive my hesitation, Ellara." He shifted and sat beside her, the mattress dipping with his weight. "The story I have to tell you is a long one, and I'm not entirely certain that I'll be able to tell it well."

"You're the best storyteller I know," she assured him.

"Storytellers practice their trade over years. That practice gives them a certain confidence. Though I have had much time to do so with other tales, this particular story has never been told until this moment. Thus, I face a certain degree of - as the modern world might term it - 'sheepishness' in the face of what is to come."

"Wait - the  _first_  time? Then…"

"You will be the first mortal to hear this particular tale in thousands of years." Elle couldn't really find a proper reply for such a claim, not when her mind was still reeling from the part when he told her that magic was more than Disney songs and fairy stories.  _Thousands_  of years? And here she'd been concerned that the gap in their age was around twenty years or so.

"Now, then," he began, tapping his lips with a long graceful finger. "I must warn you,  _da_ _'len_. This story doesn't paint all its characters in a bright and heroic light. There are too many nuances and events that cannot be explained and even more things that you may not understand at all. I will try to relay what I can, but I must confess that I don't know how to do so in a way that will make the most sense to you."

"It doesn't matter…" she shook her head.

"It  _does_."

"Then I'll do my best to listen without interrupting." He chuckled gently at that. Elle felt like a child thrilled at the prospect of listening to a new bed time story. At the same time, her heart raced anxiously. This new side to the Professor was… _exhilarating_.

"Alright…" he straightened his shoulders and leaned back against the headboard. "Where should I begin?"

"How about at the beginning?"

"If I did that, the story may put you to sleep." He covered his mouth with a hand as though in a thoughtful gesture, but Elle couldn't miss the smile he was trying to hide.

"It won't," she assured him. "Please. I'd like to know everything." Her eyes skittered away from his. "Especially if it's about you."

"As you wish…" he acquiesced. Then, his eyes turned serious, all mirth fleeing his face as he cleared his throat and spoke. His voice was lilting and soothing, magical in and of itself. With each sentence, Elle could see what he described as though his tale was a play that was acted out just for her.

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_Long ago, in an age unheard of in the annals of human history as you know it, a great conflict tore apart a land called Thedas. It was a land of magic - a land where mortals and immortals lived in coexistence. Darkness lurked there that is beyond imagining and beyond comprehension to someone of this world. Here, children are taught that monsters are specters that live only in legend and myth, but in Thedas, monsters lived both among mortals and beyond them. Describing Thedas isn_  ' _t easy, nor can thousands of years of its strife and upheaval be summarized in simple conversation. Suffice it to say that the most important elements that you need to know of involve two people who walked different paths in life._

_One was determined to bring about a certain kind of change. He lived among a decadent peoples, a society that had rigid rules and rarely deviated from them. One day, he looked around him and could no longer see the beauty and magnificence of his homeland and all those native to it. Instead, all he could see were their failings and shortcomings. He made a difficult decision to right the course his people had deviated from, and he took some drastic measures to accomplish what he believed to be right._

_He made sacrifice after sacrifice, losing many things and people that he held dear, in a revolution that reshaped not only his culture but all of Thedas. However, he would find that the changes he brought about only made things worse for the people that he treasured. Finding himself alone and at the mercy of his guilt, he fell into a slumber to regain his strength and to wait for a time when he could try to fix his mistakes._

_Time passed. Eventually, the man awakened and realized that the world around him had transformed into something that he couldn_ _'t recognize. It was a vile place, full of ignorance that cost the lives and happiness of hundreds. His people were scattered - doomed to live their lives as wanderers, as slaves, or as paupers who were at the mercy of those who believed themselves above them. Their memories, their culture, and their immortality had been stripped from them. All that remained was ruin._

 _The man was shocked. He was angered; hurt; furious. He couldn_ _'t accept that the sacrifices he'd made to originally change this world meant nothing. However, even in his solitude and self-reproach, this man clung to his ideals. He would have done anything in his power to see his perfect world come to life as he imagined it. So, he took action, but once again, his passion led him to make even more irreversible mistakes. The next time that he tried to achieve his goals, the world fell into chaos and pandemonium. His best intentions were abused, as was his trust._

_But this story isn't just about that. The details of his life aren't as important as..._

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"Wait. Wait. Who  _was_  this man?"

"Ellara…"

"I know. I said I wouldn't interrupt, but I have so many questions already. Who  _was_  he? What is this change that he wanted? Who were his people?"

"Such details aren't as important as the events that follow."

"Was he really as dangerous as you make him sound?"

"He was a man whose trust had been broken too many times - a man who saw the world as it should have been and a man who was prepared to wade through any amount of filth, pain, and torment to see that it could change. Revolution was in his name and in his blood. He was ruthless, cold, and cruel - though he tried, for a time, to pretend otherwise."

"Why would he do that? Pretend, I mean."

"Because of her."

"OK, I take it that that part of the story is coming up. Sorry, Professor. I'll try not to interrupt again."

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_You ask why he tried to change. The truth may sound trite, but that does not make it any less of a truth. He tried to change because he met a woman who shook the foundations of his beliefs. She saw the world differently than most others. Due to certain events, she was thrust into a role of leadership that forced her to give up her childhood in order to become a woman that many depended on. Hundreds needed her power. Hundreds needed her protection. They called for her to stand against a rising evil. And she did. She never turned down a cry for help, no matter how insignificant._

_This was a captivating woman - fierce, beautiful, graceful, and wise beyond her meager years. Her green eyes sang a eulogy of lost innocence even as her actions spoke of a strength of will hardly seen in anyone, especially a girl so young. She was sixteen when she became the Inquisitor, a position of power that could have rivaled any monarch of the present surrounding countries. Beside her, the man felt dwarfed and powerless. He followed her because she was a symbol of hope for thousands, especially him._

_She challenged the dominant faith of those on the continent and was a central figure in a cataclysm of change in all of Thedas. With other champions of the land at her side and a close-knit circle of trustworthy allies, she marched across the continent and carved out a legacy for her and all those who would follow. In the end, she defeated her enemies and restored order to the land._

_But, nothing comes without a cost_ _…_

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"What was her name?" Elle asked with baited breath when the Professor stopped speaking. A shadow had fallen over his face.

"She had many: Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, Keeper's First, sister, leader, friend. But to me, she was simply my beloved Moire." His voice cracked a little when he spoke the name, and Elle's chest swelled with bitterness. The Professor clearly cared for this woman. Not only that, but if what he said was true then that meant…

"This man…" She treaded carefully. "Was he… _you?"_  The Professor nodded. "And his name?"

"He, too, had many. Apostate, hedge mage, knife-ear, outcast. Some had once called him a god. Others, a prideful traitor and a selfish trickster. Sick of titles and false worship, he took another name - one which he hated; a reminder of his failures. He carried it as a burden. Yet, Moire gave it a meaning altogether different."

"Solas," Elle murmured. The Professor turned to her. Their gazes blended and held, molding against each other. She reached for his hand beneath the comforter, covering it with her own. She expected him to withdraw; instead, he twined his fingers with hers. His palm was warm, the touch of his thumb gentle as he slid it over her knuckles. "Solas," she said again, feeling her heart flutter in embarrassment. She'd never consciously or willingly called him that outside her dreams. But now, each time she did, the warmth in his eyes grew and grew and grew until she thought it might engulf her.

"The cost," she choked out past the tightness in her throat. "What was the cost of her victory?" The Professor blinked as though snapping out of a spell and looked thoughtful once more.

"The cost was their love and their happiness, for you see, as soon as they met, they knew almost immediately that they wanted to be together as long as time would allow them. There were dangers, of course. The man knew in his heart that their love would have pitfalls. She was a mortal while he was…something else. Still, he couldn't resist her. Over time, he began to see her as more than just a beacon of hope. He began to covet and cherish her. He began to think that their love could be possible."

Elle wanted to ask him a thousand more questions, but held back. The Professor's voice was tense and strained. His grip on her hand tightened; he took a deep breath. The next time he spoke, he stepped away from "the man" identity and began to speak of himself.

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_Despite the strength of our feelings, I eventually had to leave. Even though victory had been won against the current evil, there was still more to do. We had won the battle, but too many precious and priceless things were destroyed in the process. I came to understand that I could never live a simple life. I could never be the kind and gentle man that Moire thought me to be. My People needed me. There were still changes that needed to be made - still more goals that I had to accomplish._

_We were all wounded after the final battle with our greatest enemy at the time. Moire was severely injured. I wanted to stay with her - to heal her, and to watch over her as she recovered. At that moment, I would have paid any price to take her with me. But, I could not. I feared for her safety, just as I feared that once she knew the truth of what I was, she would turn away from me forever. I was too afraid to share that truth with her, and so I left before any goodbyes needed to be said._

_But Moire, in her folly or her courage, couldn_ _'t give up so easily. Somehow, she knew that I would try to leave, and when I snuck away from the battlefield, she followed me in secret. In so doing, she gleaned the truth of what I was. Contrary to my doubts, she did not stop loving me. Instead, she offered to help me accomplish my goals in ways that I could never have imagined. We traveled together, studying and planning, finding happiness where we could and even daring to dream of a life together after we achieved what we'd set out to do._

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"That sounds wonderful…" Elle said, sounding more cheerful than she felt. The truth of what he was? What did that mean?

"Yes. It would seem that this story would have a happy ending, but it was not to be. For years, war raged between the peoples of the land. Brutal savage battles with magic, steel, and blood. Empires crumbled. Countries were torn apart. Beliefs were challenged. Families turned on each other, and friends betrayed friends to gain even the smallest of advantages."

Something glimmered in the corner of Elle's vision. She glanced towards the glass doors that led to the balcony and saw the curtains swaying in a non-existent breeze. Her ears rang with a high-pitched monotone sound. She blinked, and suddenly the curtains were banners. Tied to long black spears, they flapped in a violent wind, some burning, others torn and tattered. The high-pitched noise in her ears intensified until Elle recognized it for what it was: loud hoarse shouting.

" _The battles took their toll and their price,"_  the Professor's voice echoed from behind her.  _"One by one, friends and loyal comrades were lost."_  Elle shifted her feet and felt dirt squeeze between her toes. She breathed in and smelled burning wood and peppery gunpowder. Piece by piece, an image of a massive battle formed. Groups of men appeared like ghosts, crowded around colossal trebuchets, twisting and grinding the gears in order to aim and fire them. Beyond stood a fortress - massive, imposing, impenetrable - where archers dotted the battlements and fired hail upon hail of arrows towards the soldiers below.

Despite the seeming disadvantage, Elle could see that the soldiers on the ground were making progress. They pushed through rows of infantry towards the gates, wielding an enormous metal battering ram. Towards the back of the mob, Elle noticed men and women dressed in robes wielding staves of all shapes and sizes. When they pointed them towards the enemy soldiers, fire and lightning flew outward. From the sky fell orbs of blazing fire and glittering ice. Torrents of emerald wind raged all around the field.

" _Then, when hope was just within reach, the worst happened."_   Something beckoned Elle to turn around. She saw someone shouting at her from a great distance away, waving their arms as though in panic. She squinted to see the figure in more detail and gasped when the Professor's face came into focus.  _"In the final battle that would decide the fate of the land, Moire perished,"_  the Professor in her mind narrated. He paused, but Elle could still hear him speaking. The vision of the battle imploded, transforming from clear imagery to specs of sand that shifted and morphed back into the Professor's room.

Something beckoned for her to speak. Her lips moved on their own.

 _"It was quick,"_  she murmured in a voice that was and wasn't her own.  _"It happened so fast that none of us could have stopped it or anticipated it…"_   The Professor turned to look at her. The voice in her thoughts kept speaking, and Elle gave its whispers shape and sound.

_"Soldiers were dying. Our People were dying. I was angry. I thought that if I just used my power, I could end it all. And why shouldn't I have attempted it? Our enemy was weak. They couldn't accept that the world around them didn't bend to their faith. They cut us down like vermin, and it was only fair that I should return the favor in kind."_

Hands on her arms cut off her speech. The Professor's face had lost all color. He shook her. His eyes were wide, lips parting and bending to form words that she couldn't hear.

 _"I left her,"_  Elle whispered to him.  _"She tried to stop me, but I wouldn't listen. I was too frustrated. The battle raged in my blood, and I lusted for it so that I neglected to think of what might happen if I left her unprotected."_

The Professor said something in response, but Elle still couldn't hear him. The shouting and screaming of the soldiers rose up in a roar to deafen her. The room around them vanished, opening up another panoramic view of a battlefield before her. Ruined stone vomited plumes of smoke into the air. Blood dyed the grass crimson as rivers of it soaked into the ground. An invisible force tugged on Elle's nape before she was thrust into a foreign body.

When she opened her eyes, she saw two men flanking her - one dressed in plain leather armor and the other dressed in the regalia of a commander.

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" _We need more siege engines," Moire declared above the uproar, sweat dripping tracks through the grime and dirt on her face. "We can't take the towers with so few men." She leaned on her staff and hovered a hand over her arm where a stray arrow had sliced open a shallow wound. White light shone between her fingers, and as it touched her skin, the rent flesh stitched together._

" _Our archers had to fall back, Inquisitor," a man beside her reported. Dark-haired; tan; shorter even than her. Too young to shoulder the responsibilities he held. Too young to have seen so much death. It was too bad his senior had been killed several hours prior._ _ **That**_ _was the man she needed at her side right now. This one was still green behind the ears. She could see his hands trembling as he focused on a missive from the other front._ _"Donovan reports that the enemy sent a company up the hill to flank them."_

" _What are the casualties?" Moire asked._

" _Extensive. It's a safe bet that half of the company was lost."_

" _Half?" She cursed. "We still need them. Ideas?"_

" _It would be possible to bring them around on the ridge above the southern part of the walls, but it would take time." He sounded confident when he said that. Well. Perhaps he **did**  have some potential after all. If he managed to survive the next few hours, maybe she could put his skills to good use._

" _If you do that, we'll lose more soldiers," a second man argued. He shuffled closer to Moire, the rich red tassels on his pauldrons swaying._

" _No. This is the decisive battle, Captain," Moire declared. "Every man here knows his purpose. Each one is ready to die for this cause." Behind her, the air stirred. Moire smiled when a familiar presence appeared beside her. "Solas," she called and turned around. Her shoulders straightened at the sight of her beloved._

" _Vhenan…" He stepped from thin air, magic swirling in dark green and black curls and ringlets around his form. Moire immediately moved up to him, running her fingers over the red war paint on his face and neck to make sure he was uninjured. His blue eyes spoke volumes of his exhaustion, but his demeanor was ever-confident; ever sure. His strength emboldened her, gave her the reserves she needed to draw from in order to keep fighting._

" _I'm glad to see you safe," she confessed._

" _As am I," he said as he pulled her against him. His voice was gruff - as grainy as the dirt and sand that chafed beneath their armor._

" _I saw your firestorm all the way from here. It was beautiful."_

" _It was a hellish fight," he grimaced, "but we drove them back in the west. How are things progressing here?"_

" _Well enough. At least, as well as can be expected. Our soldiers are holding and making progress, but it's too slow." Solas's lips thinned. Of course the news would displease him. Moire just hoped that he wouldn't do anything drastic in response. "We are almost there, my love," she assured. "Just a little longer, and we will have our victory. Their battlements are weakened. Our reinforcements will arrive with more weapons on the morrow. We **will**  win this."_

" _No." He shook his head and straightened his shoulders. His knuckles went white in the hand that gripped his staff. When he looked towards the enemy's fortress, his magic shifted, turned from untamed nature to raw darkness. Moire shuddered when his dark mana brushed against her skin - cold and dead as ice. "I will go **myself** ," he declared. "We cannot wait until more of our soldiers die. Enough of our blood has been shed." His countenance blackened, his eye color transmuting from blue sapphire to flaming carmine. Her heart skipped a beat in warning. Moire placed a heavy hand on his arm._

" _Solas." He glanced at her, but she knew that whatever warning she might give would be given too late. For two days they'd been fighting tooth and nail to breach the fortress. Their losses were much greater than anticipated, each death hitting close to their hearts. They'd convinced the Dalish Clans to join them in this fight, and she'd been proud when they'd bravely come from all across Thedas to battle for their People. Each lost warrior was one too many - a reminder of the cruelty of war and those who waged it._ _Now, Fen'Harel - their leader and their guide - had reached the end of his patience. In her mind's eye, Moire could already envision the destruction and chaos he would cause. Countless innocents would die, not just the enemy. And if their allies saw his true nature..._

_"Solas," she tried again._

" _Do not try to stop me, vhenan," he cautioned. "My wrath has been contained long enough."_

" _Solas, we are on the verge of victory. We spoke of this. We agreed that it was_ _ **not**_ _the best way._ _" He stepped away from her, but she clung to the chainmail sleeve of his tunic. "Please, my heart. Listen to me. I -" He tore his elbow from her grip._

" _No. Not this time." When he next looked at her, the whites of his eyes had turned black, irises stained a deep red and pupils slitted to fine points. "I am sorry, ma sa'lath." With that, he disappeared, Fadestepping farther and farther away from her. Moire stumbled back, trying to keep her wits about her as she prepared for the worst._

" _Rory," she called. The young man who had recently attained the rank of lieutenant rushed to answer._

" _Yes, Inquisitor."_

" _Call -" she cleared her throat. "Call our men back from the siege. Captain," Moire turned to the other man. "Signal the retreat."_

" _For which company, Inquisitor?"_

" _All of them." The two men paused, their jaws slack and their eyes confused. "If you don't hurry, they will be caught in the blast. When Solas reaches the fortress, anyone in his way will be obliterated." Finally, understanding dawned on her commanders. They rushed to do her bidding, each man mounting a horse and riding off in opposite directions. When they were gone, Moire turned her attention back to the central gates. There, she could see the shimmer of Solas's Fadesteps._

_**Please, Solas. Please reconsider.** _

_It began as a cool breeze on her back. Something rustled the length of Moire_ _'s dark hair. Then, just as she reached up to feel for the source, her back exploded in agony. Moire took a breath - tried to, but failed. Her lungs contracted and shuddered, a gurgle in the back of her throat indicating that they were filling with fluid. When she opened her mouth to scream, she tasted blood._

 _In the next instant, she felt something sharp shredding through each of her vertebrae. Nerves tore apart like frozen threads. She_ _'d felt this before. Metal sliding through skin. A dagger. And judging from the numbness that spread like wildfire through her veins, it was poisoned. She looked up, saw Solas waving to her in panic. He was Fadestepping towards her at breakneck pace, but even from here, she knew that it was too late._

_The dagger was flaying open her spine._

_Two Fadesteps until it split through bone and reached her heart._

_Three Fadesteps for Solas to reach her._

_**I** _ _**'m sorry, my heart. I love you.** _

* * *

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* * *

Elle opened her mouth to scream, but no sound emerged. She clutched at her chest, feeling the poisoned dagger rummaging around inside it. She closed her eyes to blot out the flashing images of the battlefield and Moire's dying whisper, but it was no use. The memories had burrowed deep inside her skull, violent hands cramming more and more of them in until she felt that she would burst.

"Ellara," the Professor called to her, his voice panic-stricken. She would have answered - attempted it, but all that came out was more strange and nonsensical words.

" _The knife. It hurts! My back. My lungs. My heart. I'm dying…I'm dying..."_

"Ellara, you must focus," the Professor urged.

" _Solas_ _…Solas, please come back…it hurts…I can't stop him..."_ Elle sagged in his grip. When she turned her head away, the Professor gripped her jaw and forced her to look at him.

"Listen to me. I know that you can do it. Block her out and take back control."

"Who?" she gasped, fighting to push the voices and memories away. More blurred sounds. More commands from her Professor that she couldn't make out no matter how hard she tried. Then the voice came again. The illusory man with the Professor's voice spoke inside her thoughts, his words crawling up from her throat and reverberating from her lips.

* * *

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* * *

_A scout. Mortal and fragile as paper consumed by flame. Legend would exaggerate. Legend would tell that he was a great and massive warrior, fighting bravely against the all-powerful heretical Inquisitor. Rumor would paint the one who landed the killing blow as an older man. In truth, he was very young, full of zeal and purpose. But, not for long. Not when I finally caught up with him and lacerated him from head to toe. I showed him no mercy. I made him suffer. If I could have, I would have wiped all evidence of his existence from this land._

_But, I had seen him deal the savage blow, and I could not think of anything past the condition of my Moire. Already, I could see her men rushing to assist her, but I knew with sinking spirit that it was much too late. I wanted to rush to her side, but a part of me wanted to pretend that I hadn't seen a thing. To imagine her fatally wounded made me sick with a woe I couldn't yet express._

_When I found her, she was breathing her last. My rage drove away all others who would have tried to help. I held her against my chest, my mind and my soul howling in grief with each beat of her slowing heart. Even as I begged her in a trembling voice not to leave me, her body grew cold and stiff._

_**The baby -** _ _she whispered with bloodied lips._ _ **The baby...** _

_Though it was agonizing, she moved to clutch at her stomach, just barely swollen beneath layers of armor and chain. Tears fell from her eyes - of pain or sorrow, I would never know. She did not need to speak. Did not need to say a thing of regret or heartbreak. We were one, and everything that she felt was reflected and mirrored within me._

_Seconds passed as eternity until the light faded from her eyes. The battle raged around us, but I could not force myself to move. Whatever my reasons were for igniting this brutal war, my purpose and the meaning I'd given to my life passed with Moire's soul_ _into the realm of spirits and dreams. My heart turning to stone inside my chest, I closed her eyes and pressed a kiss against her lifeless lips. My hands - sticky with her lifeblood - smoothed over hers._

_A last embrace for the woman of my heart and the child she would have given me._

* * *

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* * *

The next time that Elle regained her senses, she was crying. Images, memories, experiences that were not her own whirled in a torrent through her very being. Tears streamed down her face, a pain that she couldn't name splaying open her heart and covering it in deep and festering lacerations. And the Professor -

He looked shell shocked. His hands still held her by the arms, but when he saw that she was lucid again, he let go. His top lip lifted away from his teeth in an expression of disgust. Elle's heart sank. And why wouldn't he be upset? She'd practically rubbed salt into his wounds. If what she'd seen had actually happened, if she had somehow repeated all of the words that she'd heard in her mind…

"Solas," she whispered between labored breaths. At last, she could speak as herself again. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Did that pathetic apology even begin to cover it? Elle teetered on the brink of losing consciousness. Her mind was overwrought with paralyzing emotions while her body ached from wounds that didn't exist. Dizzy. Nauseous. Confused. But still, she knew that her Professor felt much worse. The look on his face was indescribable. How could a single expression characterize all the things he must have felt? Her words must have cut him deep in ways that she couldn't even begin to fathom. The sun that was his eyes was eclipsed by a shadow darker than any she had ever seen.

"Ellara," he ground out between clenched teeth. She reached for him, wanting nothing more than to comfort him somehow. But, instead of accepting her, he flinched away, acting as though her touch was the most vile of toxins. Elle's hand dropped, her shoulders sagging. His rejection stung.

"It's not my fault," she snapped, wiping her leaking eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. "Something is… _making me_  say these things. How the hell else would I know what happened? How else would I be able to tell you these things? What's happening to me?" He didn't reply. His expression terrified her. Had she done something irreversible? Had she pushed him away completely without meaning to?

"There were others," he said suddenly. "Other women who carried her soul." Ellara struggled to understand what he was talking about. Then -

"You mean the girls in the painting," she reasoned.

"Yes." He'd changed the subject. It was likely for the best. Elle had no desire to think on the horrors of what she'd just witnessed.

"What happened to them?" Silence. "Professor, please tell me. What do they have to do with me? Why do we all look alike? What  _is_  this? A haunting? Possession? I can't accept it. It's too much to take in. I don't understand what's happening, and I'm…" She shuddered. "I'm  _really_  scared…" Admitting that was difficult, especially when it made her sound so weak and frail. She was a scientist. She didn't believe in all this magic mumbo jumbo. Yet here it was, slowly driving her completely mad. She buried her face in her hands, her emotions running amok. What had she done? What had she seen? Who was this Moire really, and why was Elle able to see her death so clearly?

"Professor, I beg you. Please help me understand."

Silence. Silence. Silence. Nothing but silence for a span that seemed to last forever. Her palms smelled like sweat and tears. Her eyes stung. Her throat burned from trying to hold in her sobbing. It was so quiet in the room that Elle thought that the Professor might have disappeared into thin air. Afraid to look up lest she find that theory to be true, she remained in her curled up position.

Silence. Silence. More silence. At this rate, she really would go mad.

Suddenly -

"Forgive me." Warm arms wrapped around her, pulling her close to an even warmer body. Her cheek pressed against the Professor's chest, her ear picking up the steady beating of his heart. "Forgive me." His embrace tightened, crushing the air out of her lungs.

"Just tell me what's going on," she begged.

"For me, the pain is still too near. Hearing you say those words. Watching you relive my greatest horror…seeing it reflected in your eyes…it was a shock." Elle swallowed back her tears and grabbed at the front of his tunic. The Professor's large hand circled over her back. "There is more to the story," he said at length. "Much, much more. Would you still hear it, even after all of this?"

"Will I say strange things again?"

"I can't be certain," he confessed. "Nothing like this has happened before. If you are too afraid, then tell me." He pushed her back until they could look into each other's eyes. "Ellara, I do not wish to hurt you. I cannot bear to see you in pain. So if you wish to stop now…"

"Will it explain all of this? The rest of the story?" she asked. "Will it explain what I'm seeing and feeling?"

"It will,  _da_ _'len_. I promise that after this part, everything will be made clear."

* * *

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* * *

_The man, now bereft of that which he treasured and lost in even more inner strife and torment, turned away from the world entirely. For a long time, he was confused. Was the price he paid worth the meager victories that he_ _'d achieved? Were the world's gains worth his personal loss? As the sands of passing ages chiseled out new centuries and new millennia, he wandered through the changed lands in search of an answer - in search of new purpose and new meaning. Yet no matter where he looked or how he many times he relived what took place, the answer to his question was the same._

 _No. It wasn_ _'t worth it. The means did not justify the end. What good was his battle with misguided faith and human nature? All it had done was rob the world of its beauty. All it had done was rob him of his soul mate. The Veil lay like an iron curtain between the Fade and the realm of mortals - stronger and less forgiving than before. No one in; no one out. Mages lost their abilities. Dreamers no longer wandered the landscapes of the Fade at all. And the Old Gods slumbered, wasting away without purpose or direction._

 _Magic faded from the world until it lingered only in rare and unexplored pockets of the land. The man_ _'s original people vanished into myth. Truth became rumor, and rumor became legend until not even the old stories and tales lingered on the lips of those who used to tell them. Money, power, greed, and faith had always been the driving force behind conflicts and wars among mortals, and despite everything that the man had tried achieve, this was true even after thousands of years._

 _These years blurred together until, quite by accident, he met his beloved once more. Not in the same body. His love was dead. But, she looked just like Moire, and when he spoke to her, he could feel that she carried her soul within her. She wasn_ _'t alone. There were others that appeared over the years. At first, he was content to simply watch over them, to protect them as they lived out their ultimately finite lives. But after observing how old age stole the one he loved from him over and over again, he decided to try and change his fate once more._

 _Through dreams and visions, he tried to help them recall memories of their past life - the time when their souls and their bodies had been united in love. There was a ritual, you see, that could bind his magic with the carrier_ _'s. This would grant them a shared lifespan. Essentially, it would make her as immortal as he was. However, every time he attempted it, something went terribly wrong. The current carrier of the soul would clash with the essence of his beloved, experiencing terrifying nightmares and suffering from illness until their bodies were too weak and frail to move. Then, in a grand culmination, the carrier would lose her mind._

 _Each and every one took their own lives rather than suffer the torment of Moire_ _'s spirit inside them. The ritual drove them mad. They forgot who they were, lost memories of their own lives, and stopped sleeping. In fits of madness, they slit their wrists, their throats, their stomachs - whatever vulnerable area they could reach. They tied nooses around their necks and flung themselves from battlements and towers. Some would drink poison. Some, depending on their culture, would ritualistically kill themselves. Others simply climbed out of their windows and dropped to their deaths from their balconies._

 _With each failed attempt, the man felt a part of himself wither away. But, he didn_ _'t want to give up hope. Somewhere out there, there had to be a carrier who was strong enough to withstand the ritual's dangers. Each time that he watched his beloved take her own life, however, his resolve wavered. Despite the fact that they were carriers, he learned to love each woman anew, for each of them was beautiful and unique in their own way. Each one was a different facet of the woman that he had originally loved, and watching them take their own lives was just as painful as the first time that he had seen Moire die in his arms._

* * *

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* * *

"You kept trying…?" Elle asked when the Professor paused again.

"No," he said with a curt shake of his head. "After the most recent attempt nearly three hundred years ago, I stopped. I accepted my fate and decided that no amount of pain and loneliness was worth watching the woman I loved suffer."

"And me…?"

"You are…different. When I met you, I wasn't looking to find another reincarnation. And when I met you, I was already determined not to try again."

"But the dreams…" Elle protested. "I  _saw_  them…"

"I did nothing to cause that.  _You_  entered those dreams of your own volition. This has no precedent. Never before was a carrier able to enter the Fade without my own assistance. You were the first, and it terrified me. It still does. You have no magic, Ellara. You are no mage. I don't know what it could possibly mean, and I…" He grimaced. "I'm too much of a coward to try and find out."

"The Fade?"

"A place of dreams, for lack of a better explanation. When magic still lingered freely in this world, a barrier existed between spirits and mortals."

"That's the Veil you were telling me about."

He nodded. "Indeed. Certain mortals that could use magic could enter the Fade during sleep or meditation. It is a dangerous journey. Not to be taken lightly."

"Is this ritual the reason why you've been pushing me away all this time?"

"Yes. I couldn't bear to watch you suffer the same fate as the others, Ellara."

"What if it's too late? In my last dream, I saw her. Moire. She was angry. And just now, with these visions and the things that I heard…" He squeezed her hands between his, his brows drawing upward in an expression of desperation.

"That is precisely why this cannot go any farther than it has.  _Please_ , Ellara. Don't risk your life. Go to Alaska. Forget about me. About all of this."

"Are you  _serious?"_   Elle glared. "You can't honestly expect me to do that. Not after telling me all of this. Not after the things I've seen and felt. You said I was different. You said I can do things that the other carriers couldn't. Don't you see what this means? Maybe it means that I can stand against -"

"No," he said firmly. "I  _won_ _'t_  risk it. Not again."

"I  _love_  you!" she shouted at him, her patience snapping like dry twigs. "Doesn't that mean  _anything_ to you? And from the way you're talking…if that was really you in my dreams, then…" her face flushed at the memory of the very first dream she'd had. "Solas…" she demured. "Did we…you said you were there, in my dreams…does that mean...?" Silence again. When she stole a peek at his face, the Professor wasn't looking into her eyes. His sharp blue gaze was focused on her mouth. Self-consciously, she worried her bottom lip.

"Yes," he said. "I was there." Suddenly, a new thought entered her mind, one she hadn't considered before.

"Who were you making love to?" she asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Was it me or…was it Moire?" When he said nothing, she pulled away from him. "I am  _not_  her," she bit out.

"Of course not," he murmured, reaching for her hands. She flinched back.

"No. Don't touch me."

"Ellara..." He tried to catch her hands again. She slid back on the bed.

"No," she repeated. "I'm my own person. I'm Elle. Not Moire. I'll  _never_  be her." When he failed to catch her again, she slid farther back on the bed and prepared to jump off the other side. He growled. In the blink of an eye, he - teleported? - appearing right in front of her.  _Fadestepped_  - her mind recalled the term. Elle tried to double back, but the Professor caught her by her wrists and held her still. His blue eyes burned, almost seeming to glow in the dim light. Her spine stiffened. She tilted up her chin.

"I love you, Professor, but I _won't_ be a stand-in," she declared. "If that's what you want, then -"

How it happened, Elle would never be certain. One moment, they were on the edge of his bed, and in the next, he was pinning her against the pillows. His face hovered just above hers, his hot breath fanning against her cheeks. And his eyes - those large expressive azure orbs - encompassed all of her vision and attention until they grew to be her world.

"Professor..."

"Solas," he corrected.

"Solas," she breathed, afraid to move lest she break this incredible delusion. "Please...tell me the truth. Who were you making love to in our dream?"

" _You_ , Ellara," he growled. "Haven't you been listening to me? You are special, different."

"You told me to leave...you stole my letter and mailed a reply without even asking me..."

"For your own good, you little fool!"

"But you don't want me to leave..."

"...no..."

"Really?"

"Just thinking that you may disappear from my sight, that you will go somewhere where I won't be able to see you or watch over you…it... _hurts_..." He let go of her wrists and tried to back away, but Elle stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Solas, I love you. I don't care what happens to me. I'm _not_ Moire. Like you said, I don't have magic. I can't fight. But if staying here means that I have to fight for  _you_ , then I will. I want to stay with you. I want to  _be_  with you. I want to -"

With a pained sound in the back of his throat, Solas closed his eyes and molded his lips against her mouth. This kiss was different in every way imaginable. It was hungry, rough, and unyielding. It was brutal, punishing, and desperate. But, Elle wasn't afraid. She gasped when he grasped her jaw and drove his hot tongue into her mouth. It rasped over her teeth then over her tongue. His leg pressed up between her thighs, slowly building a pressure that was as painful as it was incredible. Elle shivered and trembled, feeling her senses scattering to the four winds. Some kind of sound - a strangled moan of sorts - pierced the air around them when he abandoned her mouth to graze his teeth against her ear.

"Ellara," he groaned. "Stop me." His lips moved to trace her collar bone. A pop as he tore open her cotton shirt and displaced one of the buttons. His mouth settled over her breast, and Elle couldn't help the moan that stemmed from the sharp sting of desire pooling between her legs. "Please, I beg you," he implored against her skin. The vibrations of his voice were exquisite. "If you won't stop me, I'll…"

"You'll what?" she breathed, lost in bliss.

"I'll touch you…" he sighed and kissed a trail down her stomach. "I'll take you. I will make you irrevocably mine."

"I already am," she argued gently. His face reappeared above hers, his eyes hard as he stroked the side of her face.

"You may regret saying that. I am a selfish and possessive man," he stressed.

"It's alright," she told him, capturing his hand with her own. She tugged him down for another kiss, feeling herself melting beneath his touch. "I want you so much," she whispered against his pointed ear. His broad shoulders trembled, his body shuddering with mounting desire. His hands ghosted up her sides, divesting her of her shirt.

"You're still weak from your illness," he protested. Hot kisses rained down from her neck to her belly button. A groan rumbled against her skin. "You are so fragile,  _ma sal'ath_. So delicate. If I was to make a mistake with the ritual...even the smallest of errors..."

"I won't break," she promised, then tilted back her head and cried out when he looped one of her legs over his shoulder and ran his fingers over her core. Nipping at her neck and branding her abdomen and the underside of her left breast with kisses, he eased her out of her clothes. The bed shifted, and suddenly his shoulders settled in-between her legs. When he spread her thighs and breathed against her, Elle gasped and dug her nails into the bedsheets. Surely he wasn't going to - yes. Yes, he was.

She had to bite her lip to hold back a hoarse shout when he parted her with his thumbs and ran his tongue against -  _Oh...oh, yes!_ Up, and up, and up. Lingering. Circling. Rough against soft. Flicking. Molding. Melting. Then a sweet, sweet pressure as that wicked tongue pressed against that  _one_ spot. It was perfect. It was incredible. Elle knew she was moaning, saying something, mumbling encouragement and something else that was hardly coherent enough to be called words. Her hands moved from the mattress to Solas's shoulders, fingernails raking long red tracks into his skin.

"The taste of you," he hummed. "Hot and sweet, like ambrosia..." He kept a firm hand on her belly, applying just enough pressure to keep her still as she bucked and writhed beneath his caress. Pleasure geysered through her, bolts of lightning stimulating every single one of her nerves. Stars exploded in her vision. Her arms and legs went numb, all feeling and perception narrowing to her center. Higher and higher she climbed, reaching for the sky, then the stars, then the heavens themselves. All at once she was afraid and thrilled, wanting to jump yet hesitant to fall from such a height as this. As though sensing her dillema, Solas pushed, and licked, and suckled until Elle thought that she could take no more of his cruel torment.

"Do not shy away from me," he teased when she pushed against him.

"Solas," she gasped. "I can't, it's...too much..."

"Then fall for me, my little bird," he commanded in a husky purr and ran a thick finger against her entrance. "Fall for me, and I will catch you." Using his thumb to make tight little circles around her clit, he pushed his index finger into her. Little by little. In, then out. Small movements at first. Taunting. Teasing. Filling her just enough, then retreating.

"No," she whimpered. "Solas..."

"What is it,  _emm'asha?_ "

"I want...I want..."

"I know," he soothed, quickening his pace. "I feel your desire - how tight you are around my finger, how you squeeze around me when I try to leave you." Still moving in and out of her, he slid up her body to press his mouth against her ear. "I ache for you, my heart. I ache to enter you - to fill you until you can do nothing but scream my name in bliss." Just imagining that sent her over the edge. Her body stiffened and contracted, back arching up as her orgasm thundered through her senses. Elle's vision tunneled and darkened. For an unknown length of time, she lay spent in that darkness, panting and far too exhausted to move. The warmth was still there, however - the desire for Solas that she wasn't sure could ever be quenched.

She sighed when a tingle of sensation urged her into wakefulness. "Are you spent,  _da'len?_ Are you alright?" a voice whispered beside her. He was concerned, but the thumb that rubbed against her nipple suggested that he already knew the answer to that. Instead of replying, she arched into him with a needy groan. He moved over her, and this time when he pressed their bodies together, she felt his skin rather than the soft material of his clothes. Wet lips wrapped around the peak of one breast as he pushed aside her thigh and slid inside her.

Yes. This was  _definitely_ better than what she'd felt inside her dreams. The way he felt inside her was...she couldn't even begin to describe it. He was hard and molten hot, stretching her until the point of sweet discomfort. His scent enveloped her - spicy and masculine - while his body heat pulsed around her with every beat of his heart. Pressing her knee up against her stomach, Solas initiated a steady rhythm, giving a low tortured groan when she tightened around him on instinct. He lost himself, then. She felt it when he fell on his elbows against her, careful to keep his full weight from crushing her. Words tumbled from his lips - foreign and beautiful. His eyes closed, but even as her own pleasure intensified to the point of euphoric pain, she continued to watch his face, observing how he came undone in her arms with each one of his powerful thrusts. She watched him until she could no longer keep her eyes open - until each movement sent her into a frenzy.

"That's it," he crooned when she threw back her head and whined. "My heart...my love...my one and only Ellara."

"Oh, Solas!" Her legs tightened around his waist just as her second climax ripped through her. Above her, she heard Solas groan as he, too, tumbled with her down into that nameless ecstasy. As his strength gave out, he rolled onto his back, pulling her with him until she lay panting and drained against his side. With their limbs entwined, they lay still among the tousled sheets and mussed pillows, staring at the ceiling. Solas ran his fingers through Elle's hair, the gentle friction of his fingernails against her scalp working to relax and lull her into sleep.

"I love you," she mumbled against his chest. Just before she gave in to her fatigue, she thought she heard him murmur:

"As do I,  _vhenan."_


End file.
